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1, 3TD0T>r. 
HOLBOBH HLLLL . 



ART OF BEING HAPPY; 



CHIEFLY FROM 



BOURNE HALL DRAPER. 



A NEW EDITION. 



" Seek not to be rich, but to be happy. The one lies in bags, 
the other in content; which wealth can never give." — w. penn. 

'.* The mind that would be happy, must be great ; 
Great in its wishes, great in its surveys." — young. 






/ 

LONDON : 

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM DARTON AND SON, 

HOLBORN HILL. 



$3 \^ %- ^ 
3^ 



PREFACE, 



The sentiments contained in the following 
pages are selected chiefly from a French 
work, by M. Droz, bearing the same title. 
The best parts of this publication, with a 
few of the thoughts of the American trans- 
lator, which seemed most useful in their 
tendency, are here presented to the English 

reader. 

To regard happiness as an art or science, 

is certainly by no means so common as it 

should be. Yet this is a proper view of 

the subject. No one was ever happy by 

chance; no one was ever happy without 



VI PREFACE. 



much study, and labour, and care to be 
so. It is worthy of remark, that, however 
writers may differ in their sentiments on 
this topic, they all agree in one essential 
point, that happiness was never found 
without virtue and piety. This is a truth 
which should never be forgotten ; a truth 
confirmed by the united testimony of all 
ranks, of all professions, and of all ages. 

Our illustrious countrywoman, the late 
excellent Hannah More, has, in an interest- 
ing dramatic sketch, entitled " The Search 
after Happiness," advanced many senti- 
ments in full unison with those of the 
writer of this volume. Personifying Hap- 
piness, she says, 

" She whom you seek inhabits yonder cell ! 
In her, united, worth and wisdom dwell I 
Poor, not dejected; humble, yet not mean; 
Cheerful, though grave ; and lively, though serene ; 



PREFACE. Vll 

Benevolent, kind, pious, gentle, just; 

Reason her guide, and Providence her trust. 

If Heaven, indulgent to her little store, 

Adds to that little but a little more, 

With holy praise her grateful heart o'erflows, 

And sweetly mitigates the sufferer's woes ; 

Her labours for devotion best prepare, 

And meek devotion smooths the brow of care." 

The fair authoress assures us, that Hap- 
piness is never to be found in the haunts 
of dissipation, or in the absence of reflex- 
ion ; 

rc I tried the power of pomp and costly glare, 
Nor e'er found room for thought, or time for prayer ; 
In different follies every hour I spent ; 
I shunn'd reflexion, yet I sought content. 
My hours were shared betwixt the park and play, 
And music served to waste the tedious day ; 
Yet softer airs no more with joy I heard, 
If any sweeter warbler was preferred ; 
The dance succeeded, and succeeding tired; 
If some more graceful dancer were admired ; 
No sounds but flattery ever sooth'd my ear ; 
Ungentle truths I know not how to hear. 
The anxious day induced the sleepless night, 
And my vex'd spirit never knew delight." 



Vlll PREFACE. 

Mrs. More affirms, that this distinguished 
boon, after which all are seeking, and 
which so few of our race comparatively 
find, is not to be found in the pursuit of 
fame or of science. She is also of opinion, 
that works of fiction tend to corrupt the 
heart, rather than to regulate the life, and 
procure happiness. Speaking of novels, 
she says, 

' Their poisonous influence led my mind astray, 
I sighed for something — what, I could not say : 
I fancied virtues which were never seen, 
And died for heroes who had never been ; 
I sicken'd with disgust at sober sense, 
And loath'd the pleasures worth and truth dispense ; 
I scorn'd the manners of the world I saw ; 
My guide was fiction, and romance my law. 
I found adventures in each common tale, 
And talked and sighed to every passing gale ; 
A fancied heroine, an ideal wife, 
I loath'd the offices of real life ; 
Each duty to perform observant still, 
But those which God and Nature bade me fill. ' 



PREFACE. IX 

She denounces, in strong terms, the pos- 
sibility of ease and indolence, to impart 
felicity. " The dire rust/' she says, " of 
indolence corrodes ;" 

" This eating canker, with malignant stealth, 
Destroys the vital powers of moral wealth. 
Seek action — 'tis the scene which virtue loves ; 
The vigorous sun not only shines but moves ; 
From sickly thoughts with quick abhorrence start, 
And rule the fancy, if you'd rule the heart." 

Mrs. More is of opinion, that something 
besides display, fine clothes, and an elegant 
figure are essential to felicity ; 

" The fairest symmetry of form or face, 
From intellect receives its highest grace ; 
The brightest eyes ne'er dart such piercing fires, 
As when a soul irradiates and inspires; 
Beauty with reason need not quite dispense, 
And coral lips may sure speak common sense." 

In order to render life happy, she earn- 



estly inculcates the greatest care in edu- 
cation 

" Know, then, that life's chief happiness or woe, 
From good or evil education flow ; 
The yielding mind with virtue should be grac'd, 
For first impressions seldom are effac'd " 

Association with the wise and good ; 
admiration of the works of God ; the plea- 
sures of benevolence ; and, above all, a 
life of cheerful devotion, are mentioned by 
this useful writer as essential ingredients 
in the cup of happiness. She closes her 
little work with language, which all who 
are rightly informed and who would be 
happy, will delight to use; 

" Fountain of Being ! teach us to devote 
To Thee each purpose, action, word, and thought ! 
Thy grace our hope, thy love our only boast ; 
Be all distinctions in the Christian lost ! 
Be this, in every state our wish alone, — 
' Almighty, wise, and good, Thy will be done 1" 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Chap. I.— Introduction 1 

Chap. II. — Physical, Organic, & Moral Laws 10 

Chap. III. — General Views of Happiness, ... 33 

Chap. IV. — -Our Desires 44 

Chap. V.— Tranquillity of Mind 61 

Chap. VI.— Of Misfortune : 70 

Chap VII. — Of Independence 81 

Chap. VIII.— Of Health 89 

Chap. IX. — Of Competence 104 

Chap. X. — Of Opinion, and the Esteem of 

Men 115 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Page. 
Chap. XI. — Of Respect towards our Fellow- 
Creatures 123 

Chap. XII. — Of some of the Virtues 130 

Chap. XIIL— Of Marriage 140 

Chap. XIV.— Of Children ffT. 149 

Chap. XV.— Of Friendship 158 

Chap. XVI.— The Pleasures of the Senses . . 169 
Chap. XVII.— The Pleasures of the Heart . . 176 
Chap. XVIII.— The Pleasures of the Under- 
standing 182 

Chap. XIX. — The Pleasures of Imagination. . 189 

Chap. XX. — Melancholy 195 

Chap. XXI. — Religious Sentiments 202 

Chap. XXII.— Of the Rapidity of Life .... 215 

Chap. XXIIL— On Death 224 

Chap. XXIV.— Conclusion 253 

Appendix.- — The Choice of a Profession .... 260 



THE 

ART OF BEING HAPPY. 



CHAPTER I. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Some will, perhaps, be ready, when they read the 
title of this volume, to regard its counsels with 
indifference, or even with disdain. They will 
indolently, and yet confidently, affirm, that the 
theoretical discussion of the pursuit of happiness is 
visionary and profitless ; that lecture, write, preach 
as we may, the future will be, perhaps ought to be, 
as the past ; that the world is always growing 
older without ever growing wiser ; and that men 
are evidently no more successful in their search 
after happiness now, than in the remotest periods 
of history. They will affirm, that man has always 
been the sport of accident, the slave of his passions, 
the creature of circumstances ; that it is useless to 



2, INTRODUCTION. 

reason, vain to consult rules, imbecile to surrender 
independence, to follow the guidance of those who 
assume to be wise, or receive instruction from 
those who have been taught by years. They will 
allege the utter inefncacy of the lights of reason, 
philosophy, and religion, judging from the little 
comparative illumination, which they have hitherto 
shed upon the paths of life. On the same ground, 
and from the same reasonings, they might declaim 
against every attempt, in every form, to render the 
world wiser and happier. With equal propriety 
they might say, " Close the pulpit, silence the 
press, cease from parental discipline, moral suasion, 
and the training of education. Do what you will, 
the world will go on as before/ ' Who does not 
see the absurdity of such language ? Because we 
cannot do every thing, shall we do nothing? 
Because the million float towards the invisible 
future without any pole-star, or guided only by the 
presumption of general opinion, is it a conclusive 
proof that none have been rendered happier in 
consequence of having followed wiser guidance, 
and pursued happiness by system ? 

Such is the practical creed of the great mass of 
society. I, on the contrary, think that this general 
persuasion is palpably false and fatal ; that much 
suffering may be avoided, and much enjoyment 
obtained by following rules, and pursuing happiness 



INTRODUCTION. <J 

by system ; that I have had the fortune to meet 
with numbers, who were demonstrative proof that 
men may learn how to be happy. I am confident 
that the far greater portion of human suffering is 
of our own procuring, the result of ignorance and 
mistaken views, and that it is a superfluous and 
unnecessary mixture of bitterness in the cup of 
human life. I firmly believe that the greater 
number of deaths, instead of being the result of 
specific diseases, to which they are attributed, are 
really caused by a series of imperceptible malign 
influences, springing from corroding cares, griefs, 
and disappointments. To say, that more than half 
the human race die of sorrow, and a broken heart, 
or in some way fall victims to their depraved 
passions, may seem like advancing a revolting 
doctrine ; but it is, nevertheless, a simple truth. 

We do not actually see the operations of grief 
upon some one or all the countless frail and delicate 
constituents of human life. But if physiology could 
look through the infinitely complicated web of our 
structure with the power of the solar microscope, 
it would behold every chagrin searing some nerve, 
paralyzing the action of some organ, or closing 
some capillary ; and that every sigh draws its drop 
of life-blood from the heart. Nature is slow in 
resenting her injuries ; but the memory of them is 
indelibly impressed, and treasured up for a late but 



INTRODUCTION, 



certain revenge, Nervousness, lowness of spirits, 
headache, and all the countless train of morbid and 
deranged corporeal and mental action, are at once, 
the cause and the effect of sorrow and anxiety, 
increased by a constant series of action and reaction. 
Thought and care become impressed upon the 
brow. The bland essence of cheerfulness evaporates. 
The head becomes shorn of its locks ; and the frosts 
of winter gather on the temples. These concurrent 
influences silently sap the stamina of life ; until, 
aided by some adventitious circumstance, death 
lays his hand upon the frame, that by the sorrows 
and cares of life was prepared for his dread office. 
The bills of mortality assign a name to the mortal 
disease different from the true one. 

Cheerfulness and equanimity are about the only 
traits that have invariably marked the life of those 
who have lived to extreme old age. Nothing is 
more clearly settled by experience, than that grief 
acts as a slow poison, not only in the immediate 
infliction of pain, but in gradually impairing the 
powers of life, and in subtracting from the sum of 
our days. 

If, then, by any process of instruction, discipline, 
and mental force, we can influence our circum- 
stances, banish grief, create cheerfulness, we can, 
in the same degree, reduce rules, for the pursuit of 
happiness, to a system ; and make that system a 



INTRODUCTION. O 

matter of science. Can we not do this ? The 
very million who deride the idea of seeking for 
enjoyment through the medium of instruction, 
unconsciously exercise the power in question to a 
certain extent ; though not to the extent of which 
they are capable. All those wise individuals who 
have travelled with equanimity and cheerfulness 
through the diversified scenes of life, making the 
most of its good, and the least of its evils, bear a 
general testimony to the truth of this fact. We 
find in them a conviction that they had such power, 
and a force of character that enabled them to act 
according to their convictions. 

No person deserves the name of a philosopher, 
who is not wise in relation to the great purpose of 
life. In the same proportion, then, as I can 
convince my readers, that by their own voluntary, 
physical and mental discipline, they can act upon 
circumstances, and influence their temperament, 
and thus bear directly upon their happiness, I shall 
be able to stir up their powers, and call forth their 
energy of character, to apply that discipline in their 
own case. In the same proportion I shall be 
instrumental in training' them to the highest 
exercise of their reason, and the attainment of true 
philosophy. 

The elements upon which we should operate, are 
circumstances, habits, and modes of thinking and 



INTRODUCTION, 



acting. The philosopher of circumstances, denies 
that you can act upon these. But, by his unwearied 
efforts to propagate his system, he proves that he 
does not himself act upon his avowed convictions. 
The impulse of all our actions from birth to death, 
the spring of all our movements, is a conviction 
that we can alter and improve our condition. We 
have a consciousness stronger than our reason, 
that we can control our circumstances. We can 
change our regimen and habits ; and, by patience 
and perseverance, even our temperament. Every 
one can cite innumerable and most melancholy 
instances of those who have done it for evil. The 
habit of indulging in opium, tobacco, ardent 
spirits, or any of the pernicious narcotics, soon 
reduces the physical and mental constitution to 
that temperament, in which these stimulants are 
felt to be necessary. A corresponding change is 
produced in the mind and disposition. The frequent 
and regular use of medicine, though it may have 
been wholly unnecessary at first, finally becomes 
an inveterate habit. No phenomenon of physiology 
is more striking, than the facility with which the 
human constitution immediately commences a 
conformity to whatsoever change- of circumstances, 
as of climate, habit, or aliment, we impose upon 
it. It is a most impressive proof, that the Creator 
has formed man capable of becoming the creature 
of all climates and conditions. 



INTRODUCTION. / 

If we may change our temperament both of body 
and mind for evil, as innumerable examples prove 
that we may, why not also for good. Our habits 
certainly are under our control : and our modes of 
thinking, however little the process may have been 
explained, are, in some way, shaped by our 
voluntary discipline. We have powers of self- 
command, as every one who has made the effort to 
exercise them, must be conscious. We have 
inexhaustible moral force for self- direction, if we 
will only recognize and exert it. We owe most of 
our disgusts and disappointments, our corroding 
passions and unreasonable desires, our fretfulness, 
gloom and self- torment, neither to nature nor fate ; 
but to ourselves, and our reckless indifference to 
those rules, that ought to guide our pursuit of 
happiness. Let a higher education and a truer 
wisdom detach us from our passions, dispel the 
mists of opinion, and silence the authority of 
example. Let us commence the pursuit of happi- 
ness on the right course, and seek it where alone 
it is to be found. Equanimity and moderation will 
shed their mild radiance upon our enjoyments; and 
in our reverses we shall summon resignation and 
force of character : and, according to the sublime 
ancient maxim, we shall, in some useful degree, 
become masters of events and of ourselves. 

I am sensible that there will always be a 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

sufficient number of those, deemed philosophers, 
who, notwithstanding their rules, have wandered 
far from their aim. Such there will ever be, so 
long as there are stirring passions within, or 
hidden dangers around us ; and there will be 
shipwrecks, so long as human cupidity and 
ambition tempt self-confident and unskilful mari- 
ners upon the fickle and tumultuous bosom of the 
ocean. But is this proof that a disciplined pilot 
would not be most likely to make the voyage in 
safety, or that the study of navigation is useless ? 

My affectionate desire is, to draw your attention 
to those moral resources which the Creator has 
placed at your command. How many millions 
have floated down the current in the indolent 
supineness of inactivity, who, had they been aware 
of their internal means of active resistance, would 
have risen above the pressure of their circum- 
stances ! Who can deny, that there is a manifest 
difference, even as things now are, between the 
moral courage of action and endurance, put forth 
by a disciplined and reflecting mind, possessing 
force of character, and the stupid and passive 
abandonment, with which a savage meets pain and 
death ? 

To encourage us to shake off the superincumbent 
load of indifference, ridicule, and opposition, and to 
make efforts to extend virtue and happiness, let us 



INTRODUCTION. y 

reflect that a useful thought may outlive an empire. 
Babylon and Thebes are, now, nowhere to be 
found ; but the moral lessons of the contemporary 
wise and good, despised and disregarded, perhaps, 
in their day, have descended to us and are still to 
be found. As the seminal principles of plants, 
borne through the wide spaces of the air by their 
downy wings, find at length a congenial spot, in 
which to settle down, and vegetate, these seeds of 
virtue and happiness, floating down the current of 
time, are still arrested, from age to age, by some 
kindred mind, in which they germinate, and 
produce their golden fruit. No intellect can 
conjecture, in how many instances, and to what 
degree, every fit moral precept may have come 
between the reason and passions of some one, 
balancing between the course of happiness and 
ruin, and may have inclined the scale in his 
favour. The consciousness of even an effort to 
achieve one such triumph is a sufficient satisfaction 
to a virtuous mind. 



CHAPTER II, 



THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS, 

It is devoutly to be hoped that the time is rapidly 
approaching, when no one will be found who shall 
regard religion and philosophy as militant and 
irreconcilable principles. So far from their being 
in opposition, when rightly understood, they will 
be found resting on the same immutable foundation. 
A few of the misguided friends of piety may have 
sometimes attempted to represent them as separate 
and hostile interests ; but it will one day be 
understood, that whatever wars with reason and 
common sense, is equally hostile to religion. The 
simple and unchangeable truths of Christianity 
will be found to violate none of our most obvious 
convictions. Truth will reassume her legitimate 
reign. Piety, religion, and morals, our best 
interests for this life, and our surest preparations 



THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS. 11 

for a future one, will be found exactly conformable 
to the eternal order of things ; when this is seen, 
the system of the gospel will become universal, 
according to its legitimate claims. True piety, in 
my mind, is equally our duty, our wisdom, and 
happiness. To behold God every where in his 
works, to hold communion with him in a contem- 
plative and admiring spirit, to love and trust 
him, to find in the deep and constantly present 
persuasion of his being and attributes, a sentiment 
of exhaustless cheerfulness and excitement to duty, 
I hold to be the source of the purest and sublimest 
pleasure that earth can afford. 

True philosophy unfolds the design of final 
causes with a calm and humble wisdom. It finds 
the Creator everywhere, and always acting in 
wisdom and power. It traces the highest benevo- 
lence of intention, where the first aspect showed no 
apparent purpose, or one that seemed to tend to 
misery ; offering new inducements to learn the 
first and last lesson of religion, and the ultimate 
attainment of human wisdom, resignation to the 
will of God. In vindicating his ways to men, it 
declares that so long as we do not understand the 
laws of our being, and so long as we violate them, 
either ignorantly, wilfully, or even unconsciously, 
misery must certainly follow ; and that the 
Omnipotent has forged every link of the chain that 



12 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

connects our own unhappiness with every trans- 
gression of the laws of our nature. 

We find ourselves making a part of an existing 
universe, which neither ignorance, nor wisdom, 
doubting, nor confidence can alter. If we know 
the order, of which we are the subjects, and 
conform to it, we are happy. If we ignorantly, or 
wilfully transgress it, the order is in no degree 
changed, or impeded. It moves irresistibly on, 
and the opposition is crushed. How wisdom and 
benevolence are reconcilable with the permission 
of this ignorance and opposition ; in other words, 
why partial evil exists in God's universe, it is not 
my object to enquire. The enquiry would not only 
be fruitless, but would in no degree alter the fact, 
that what we call evil does exist. It is enough for 
us to know, that, as far as human research has 
reached, or can reach, the more profoundly we 
investigate the subject, the more clearly are design, 
wisdom, and benevolence discoverable. Beyond 
our discernment, right reason, guided by humility, 
would infer, that, where we cannot trace the 
impress of these attributes, it is not because they 
are not to be found, but because our powers are 
not equal to the discovery. If we had a broader 
vision, and were more fully acquainted with the 
relations of all parts of God's universe, the one to 
the other, and all the reasons of the permanent 



AND MORAL LAWS. 13 

ordinances of his government, we should be able to 
understand the necessity of partial evil to the 
general good ; we should understand, why it rains 
on the waste ocean, when drought consigns whole 
countries to aridity and desolation ; in a word, 
why ignorance, transgression, misery, and death, 
have a place in our system. 

All that we now know is, that the natural laws 
of this system are universal, invariable, unbending ; 
that physical and moral tendencies are the same all 
over our world ; and we have every reason to 
believe, over all other worlds. Wherever moral 
beings keep in harmony with these laws, there is 
no instance in which happiness is not the result. 
Men never enjoy health, vigour, and felicity in 
disobedience to them. The whole infinite contri- 
vance of every thing above, around, and within us, 
appears directed to certain benevolent issues ; and 
all the laws of nature are in perfect harmony with 
the whole constitution of man. 

We shall not enter upon the subtle controversies 
of moral philosophers, as to the fundamental prin- 
ciple of moral obligation, whether it be expediency, 
the nature of things, or the will of God. In 
my view these are rather questions about words 
than things. The nature of things is a part of the 
will of God ; and expediency is conformity to this 
unchanging order. An action derives its moral 



14 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

complexion from being conformed to the will of 
God, and the nature of things ; and whatever is so 
conformed, is expedient ; consequently, all the 
different foundations of morals, when examined, 
are found to be precisely the same. 

My notions of morality are, that it is con- 
formity to the physical, organic, and moral laws 
of the universe. Some will choose to call it 
expediency; others, the will of God; and others 
still, the constitution of things. These views, when 
reduced to their elements, are the same, call them 
by what names we may. We may obviously divide 
these laws into three classes. The first series we 
call physical laws, or those which act upon the 
material universe, and upon ourselves as a part of 
that universe. The second we call organic, or 
those which regulate the origin, growth, well-being, 
and dissolution of organized beings. The last, 
denominated moral, act chiefly on the intellectual 
universe. They are founded on our relations to 
the great family of being, and to God. 

We infer from analogy, that these laws always 
have been, are, and always will be, invariably the 
same ; and that they prevail alike in every portion 
of God's universe. We so judge, because we 
believe the existing order of things to be the wisest 
and the best. We know that the physical laws 
actually do prevail alike in every part of our world, 



AND MORAL LAWS. 15 

and as far beyond it, as the highest helps of as- 
tronomy can aid our researches into the depths of 
immensity. It is not probable, that if we could 
investigate the system, as far as the utmost stretch 
of thought, we should find any point, where the 
laws of gravity, light, heat, and motion do not 
prevail ; where the sentient beings are not restrict- 
ed to the same moral relations, as in our world ! 
Wherever the empire of science has extended, we 
note these laws equally prevalent, in an atom and 
a world, and from the lowest order of beings up to 
a man. The arrangement of the great whole, it 
should seem, must be a single emanation from the 
same wisdom and will, perfectly uniform through- 
out the whole empire. What an impressive motive 
to study these laws, and conform to them, is it, to 
know, that they are as irresistible as the divine 
power, as universal as the divine presence, as 
permanent as the divine existence; that there is no 
evading them, that no art can disconnect misery 
from transgressing them ; that no change of place 
or time, that not death, nor any transformation 
which our conscious being can undergo, will, during 
the revolutions of eternity*, dispense any more with 
the necessity of observing these laws, than during 
our present transitory existence. 

I need not dwell a moment upon the proofs of 
the absolute identity of the physical laws. No one 



16 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

need be told, that a ship floats, water descends, 
heat warms, and cold freezes, and that all physical 
properties of matter are the same over the globe. 
We shall only show by a few palpable examples, 
that our system is arranged in conformity to the 
organic laws. Every discovery in the kingdom of 
animated nature developes new instances. 

In the tropical regions, the muscular energy is 
less, in proportion as the natural fertility of the soil 
is greater. In colder latitudes muscular energy is 
increased ; and ruder elements and a more sterile 
nature, proportion their claims accordingly. In 
arctic regions no farinaceous food ripens. So- 
journers in that climate find, that bread and vege- 
table diet do not furnish the requisite nutriment ; 
that pure animal food is the only sustenance that 
will there maintain the tone of the system, im- 
parting a delightful vigor and buoyancy of mind. 
Strange as it may seem, to conform to this neces- 
sity, these dreary countries abound in infinite 
numbers and varieties of animals, fowls and fishes. 
The climate favours the drying and preserving 
of animal food, which is thus prepared to sustain 
the inhabitants, when nature imprisons the material 
creation in chains of ice, and wraps herself up in 
her mantle of snow. Thus, if we survey the whole 
globe, the food, climate and other circumstances 
will be found accommodated to the inhabitants ; 



AND MORAL LAWS. 17 

and they, as far as they conform to the organic 
laws, will be found adapted to their climate and 
mode of subsistence. 

In all positions man finds himself called upon, 
by the clear indications of the organic laws, to take 
that free and cheerful exercise, which is calculated 
to develope vigourous muscular, nervous and men- 
tal action. The peasant digs, and the hunter 
chases for subsistence ; but finds at the same time 
health and cheerfulness. The penalty of the viola- 
tion of this organic law by the indulgence of 
indolence is debility, enfeebled action, both bodily 
and mental, dyspepsia with all its painful train, 
and finally death. On the other hand, the penalty 
of over exertion, debauchery, intemperance, and 
excess of every species, comes in other forms of 
disease and suffering. These laws though not so 
obviously and palpably so, are as invariable and 
inevitable, as those of attraction, or magnetism ; 
and yet the great mass of our species, even in what 
we call enlightened and educated countries, do not 
recognize, and obey them. It is in vain for them, 
that, from age to age, the same consequences have 
ensued, as the heralds of the divinity, proclaiming 
to all people, in all languages, that his laws carry 
their sanctions with them. One of our most impe- 
rious duties, then, is to study these laws, to make 
ourselves conversant with their bearing upon our 



18 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

pursuit of happiness, that we may conform to 
them. When we have "become acquainted with 
their universality and resistless power, we shall 
indulge no puerile hope that we may enjoy the 
present gratification of infringing them, and then 
evade the ultimate consequences. We shall as 
soon calculate to change condition with the tenants 
of the air and the waters, as expect to divert any 
one of them from its onward course. 

He then is wise, who looks round him with a 
searching eye to become fully possessed, without 
the colouring of sophistical wishes, and self- deceiv- 
ing expectation, of the actual conditions of his 
being ; and who, instead of imagining, that the 
unchangeable courses of nature will conform to 
him, his ignorance, interests or passions, shapes 
his course so as to conform to them. He will no 
more expect, for example, that he can indulge his 
appetites, give scope to his passions, and yield 
himself to the seductions of life, and escape without 
a balance of misery in consequence, than he would 
calculate to throw himself unhurt, from a mountain 
precipice. 

So far as regards himself, he will study the 
organic laws, in reference to their bearing upon 
his mind, his health, his morals, his happiness. 
He will strive to be cheerful ; for he knows that 
it is a part of the constitution of things, that 



AND MORAL LAWS. 

cheerfulness tends to physical and n 
He will accustom himself to exerci; - -.- and 
avoid indolence, because he understands that he 
was formed to be an active being, and that he can- 
not yield to his slothful propensities, without forfeit- 
ing the delightful feeling of energy, and the power 
to operate upon events, instead of being passively 
borne along by them. He will be active, that he 
may be conscious of power. He will rise above 
the silent and invisible influence of sloth, and will 
exult in a feeling of force and self-command, for 
the same reasons that the eagle loves to soar aloft, 
and look upon the sun ; because a sensation of 
power, and a sublime liberty are enjoyed in the 
flight. He will be temperate in the gratification of 
his appetites and passions, because he is aware, 
that every excessive indulgence strikes a balance 
of suffering against him, which he must discharge 
sooner, or later ; and helps to forge a chain of 
habit, that will render it more difficult for him to 
resist the next temptation to indulgence. He will 
rise early from sleep, because nature calls him to 
early rising, in all her cheerful voices, in the matin 
song of birds, the balmy morning freshness and 
elasticity of the air, and the renovated cry of joy 
from the whole animal creation. He will do this, 
because he has early heard complaints from all 
sides of the shortness of life, and because he is 



20 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

sensible, that lie who rises every day two hours 
before the common period, will prolong the ordi- 
nary duration of life by adding six years of the 
pleasantest part of existence. He will rise early, 
because, next to the intemperate, no human being 
offers a more unworthy spectacle, than is presented 
by the man, who calls himself rational and immor- 
tal, who sees before him a greater amount of know- 
ledge, duty and happiness, than he could hope 
to compass in a thousand years ; and who yet 
turns himself indolently from side to side, during 
the hours of the awakening of nature, enjoying 
only the luxury of a savage or a brute, in a state 
of dozing existence little superior to the dreamless 
sleep of the grave. I test the character of a youth, 
of whom I wish to entertain hope, by this criterion. 
If he can nobly resist his propensities, if he can 
act from reason against his inclinations, if he can 
trample indolence under foot, if he can always 
make the effort to show the intellectual in the 
ascendant over the animal being, I note him as 
one, who will be worthy of eminence, whether he 
attain it or not. In a word, there is something of 
dignity and intellectual grandeur in the aspect of 
the young, who live in obedience to the organic 
and moral laws, which commands at once that 
undefined, and almost unconscious estimation and 
respect, which all minds involuntarily pay to true 
erreatness. 



AND MORAL LAWS. 21 

When the young reach that period, when it is 
proper to assume the obligations of settled life, 
this conformity to the nature of things will cause 
them to pause, and reflect on what is before them, 
and will interdict them from following the incon- 
siderate throng, in entering into that decisive con- 
dition, consulting no other lights, than a morbid 
fancy, those impulses which are common to all 
other animals, or sordid calculations of interest. 
They perceive at a glance, that those who with 
such views take on them the obligations of the 
conjugal state, have no right to hope any thing 
better than satiety, ill-humour, monotonous disgust, 
and the insupportable imprisonment of two per- 
sons, in intimate and indissoluble partnership, who 
find weariness and penance in being together, who 
are reminded, at once by the void in their hearts, 
and their mutual inability to fill it, that they must 
not only endure the pain of being chained together, 
but feel, that they are thus barred from a happier 
union, partly by shame, partly by public opinion, 
and more than all, by the obstacles, wisely thrown 
by all civilized nations in the way of obtaining 
divorce. There can be no doubt, that the common 
views of the universal unhappiness of the wedded 
state in all Christian countries are the result of 
gross exaggeration. Making all allowances for 
errors from this source, language is too feeble, to 



22 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

delineate the countless and unutterable miseries, 
that, in all time since the institution of marriage., 
as recognized by Christianity, have resulted from 
these incompatible unions, for the simple reason, 
that, in this transaction, of so much more moment 
than almost any other, scarcely one of the parties 
in a thousand, it is believed, takes the least note of 
of it in relation to the organic and moral laws. 
The young and the aged, the feeble and the strong, 
the healthy and the diseased, the beautiful and the 
deformed, the mild and the fierce, the intellectual 
and the purely animal, the rich and the poor, bring 
their incompatibilities to a common stock, add ruin- 
ous excesses of temperament together, and arouse 
from a short trance to the conscious and sober 
sadness of waking misery. Weariness and discon- 
tent, relieved only by domestic discord, and a 
wretchedness aggravated by the consciousness that 
there is no escape from it, but by death, is the 
issue of a union consummated under illusive expec- 
tations of more than mortal happiness. What 
multitudes have found this to be the reality of their 
youthful dreams ! Yet, if this most important 
union is contracted under animal impulses, without 
any regard to moral and intellectual considerations, 
without any investigation of the organic and social 
fitness of the case, without enquiry into the com- 
patibility, without a mutual understanding of dts- 



AND MORAL LAWS. 23 

positions and habits ; who cannot foresee, that the 
affections will soon languish in satiety ; that repen- 
tance, disaffection, and even loathing, in proportion 
to the remembered raptures for ever passed away, 
will open the eyes of the parties to their real and 
permanent condition, and that by a law as certain 
and inevitable, as that which propels water down a 
precipice ! And this is not the darkest shade in 
the picture. By the same laws children are born, 
who advance into life to repeat the errors of their 
parents, to make common stock of their misery 
anew, to multiply the number of the unhappy ; or, 
perhaps worse, to tenant hospitals, and the recep- 
tacles of human ignorance and misery. 

Study then, and obey the moral laws of the 
universe, of which you are a part, because you are 
moral beings, and because obedience to these laws 
constitutes the tie of affinity between you, the 
higher orders of being, and the Divinity. Respect 
these laws, because it is the glory of your nature, 
that you alone, of all creatures below, are morally 
subject to them. Laying out of the question their 
momentous sanctions in the eternal future, you 
must be aware, that the Creator has annexed plea- 
sure to obeying them, and pain to their violation 
as inevitably, as gravity belongs to matter. One 
would think, it must be enough to determine the 
conduct of a beins:, who laid claim to the character 



24 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

of rational, to know, that no art nor dexterity, 
that no repentance nor return to obedience, can 
avert the consequences of a single violation of these 
laws ; and that no imaginable present good can 
counterbalance the. future misery, that must accrue 
in consequence. 

With regard, for example, to the practice of the 
most common and every day duties, who can doubt 
the truth of the trite adage, Honesty is the best 
policy? This is, in effect, no more than saying, that 
the moral laws of the universe are constituted upon 
such principles, as to make it every man's interest 
to obey them. It is as certain, that they are so 
constituted, as that fire will burn, or water drown 
you ; and when you understand this constitution, it 
marks the same want of a sane mind to violate 
them, as to be unable to keep out of these elements. 
Yet the greater portion of the species do not 
constantly act upon a full belief in this hacknied 
maxim. They think apparently, that they can in 
some way obtain the imagined advantage of dis- 
honesty and evade the connected evil, not aware, 
that detection and diminished confidence may be 
avoided, for once or twice ; but not the loss of 
self-respect, the pureness and integrity of internal 
principle, the certainty of forging the first link in 
a chain of bad habits, and a thousand painful 
consequences, which it would be easy to enumerate 



AND MORAL LAWS. 2o 

in detail. Almost every one deems that he may 
safely put forth every day false compliment, double- 
dealing, deception on a small scale, and little 
frauds, not cognisable by any law or code of honor. 
In a word, if actions are a test of the sincerity of 
conviction, very few really are convinced that 
honesty is the best policy. 

We hold the man insane who should leap from 
a high building upon the pavement, or attempt to 
grapple with the blind power of the elements. 
But it is scarcely the subject of our remark, that 
the multitude about us, in the most important, as 
well as the minutest concerns of life, live in habit- 
ual recklessness or violation of the organic and 
moral laws ; and yet we certainly know, that who- 
ever infringes them is as sure to pay the penalty, 
as he who madly places himself in opposition to 
the material laws. I can never present this aston- 
ishing and universal blindness in too many forms 
of repetition, if the effect is to bring you to view 
these two species of folly in the same light. 

The reason clearly is, that in too many instances, 
men take no pains to acquaint themselves with 
these laws, and their bearing upon the constitution 
of man ; or, deceived by the clamours of the incli- 
nations, and the illusions of present pleasure and 
advantage, when balanced with future and remote 
penalties, they commit the infractions, and hope, 



26 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

that between the certain pleasure and the distant 
and contingent pain, they can interpose some eva- 
sion, and sever the consequences from the fault. 
The expectation always ends, like the alchynhst's 
dream, and the projector's perpetual motion. Even 
in the apprehension of the consequences, the mind 
is paying the penalty of an unquiet conscience, and 
of an abatement of self-confidence, and self-respect, 
penalties, which very few earthly pleasures can 
compensate. 

Wlien I speak of these unchangeable laws, as 
emanations from the divine wisdom and goodness, 
as transcripts of the divine immutability, and as be- 
ing the best of all possible arrangements, not to be 
superseded or turned from their course by the wisest 
of beings, I by no means wish to find fault with 
the consoling and scriptural doctrine of providence. 
I firmly believe, and trust in it ; not, however, in 
the popular view. It would not increase my 
veneration for the Almighty*, to suppose that his 
laws required exceptions and variations, to meet 
particular cases : nor that they would call for 
frequent suspensions and changes, to provide for 
contingencies not foreseen at the commencement of 
the mighty movements . Such are not the grounds 
of my trust in the wisdom and goodness of the 
Supreme Being. I neither desire, nor expect any 
deviation of laws, as wise and °:ood as they can 



AND MORAL LAWS. '1 1 

be, in their general operation, to meet my particu- 
lar wishes, or those of the friends most dear to me. 
I expect, that none of the powers of nature will 
change for me ; I encourage no insane hopes, 
that things will forego their tendencies to meet 
my conveniences or pleasures. Prayer is a duty 
equally comforting and elevating ; but my prayers 
are not, that these fixed laws of the divine wisdom 
may change for me ; but that I may understand 
and conform to them. The providence, in which 
I believe, supposes no exceptions, infringements, 
or violations of the universal plan of the divine 
government. Miracles only seem such to us. 
because we see but a link or two in the endless 
chain of that plan. An ingenuous mechanic con- 
structs a clock, which will run many years, and 
only once in the whole period strike an alarm bell. 
It is a miracle to those who comprehend not, that 
it was part of the original plan of the mechanic. 
May we not with more probability adopt the same 
reasoning, in relation to the recorded miracles, as 
parts of the original plan of the Eternal ? 

Piety, established upon a knowledge of these 
laws, and a respect for them, and associated with 
veneration for their Author, is rational, consistent, 
firm, and manly. It seeks, it expects nothing, in 
the puerile presumption, that the ordinances of 



28 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

heaven fitted for the whole system of the Creator, 
will be wrested to the wants of an insect. In 
docilty and meekness it labours for conformity to 
those ordinances ; in other words, to the divine 
will. It violates no principle, and calls for the 
exercise of no faith that is repugnant to the dic- 
tates of common sense, and the teaching of 
common observation. Piety, founded on such 
views, abides the scrutiny of the severest investi- 
gation. No vacillation of the mind from varying 
fortunes, no questionings of unbelief, doubt, and 
despair can shake it. It rests firmly on the basis 
of the divine attributes. It holds fast to the golden 
chain, the last link of which is riveted to the 
throne of the Eternal. Yet it is delightful to 
reflect, that the merciful arrangements of the Most 
High extend to the minute no less than the great. 
An infallible authority has assured us, that " not a 
sparrow falleth to the ground without our heavenly 
Father." 

Thus it seems to me indispensable, as a pre- 
requisite to the pursuit of happiness, that the 
enquirer should examine the physical and moral 
laws ; that he should carefully investigate their 
whole bearing upon his constitution; that he 
should trace all their influences on him from the 
first hour in which he opens his eyes on the light, 



AND MORAL LAWS, "29 

to his departure out of life. I insist the more 
earnestly upon this, because in these days the 
study of the moral relations of things seems to me 
comparatively abandoned. The exact and natural 
sciences are studied, rather, it would seem, as an 
end, than a means. Natural philosophy, mathe- 
matics, and astronomy may be highly useful ; but 
who will compare these sciences, in regard to their 
utility and importance, with those which guide the 
mind to their Author, which teach the knowledge 
of his moral laws, which instruct us how to allay 
the passions, to moderate our expectations, and to 
establish morality on the basis of our regard to our 
own happiness ? 

If, then, you would give yourself to the patient 
study of the natural sciences, that you may gain 
reputation and the ability to be useful, much more 
earnestly will you study regimen, exercise, tempe- 
rance, moderation, cheerfulness, the benefits of a 
balanced mind, and of a wise and Christian 
conformity to an order of things, not a tittle of 
which you can change, that you may be resigned, 
useful, and happy. All knowledge which cannot 
be turned to this account, either as relates to 
yourself or others, is useless. 

Some part, then, of each day, should be dedi- 
cated by every individual in health, to the exercise 



30 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 

of his nervous and muscular systems, in labour 
calculated to give scope to these functions. The 
reward of obeying this requisite of his nature 
would be health, and a joyous animal existence ; 
the punishment of neglect is disease, low spirits, 
and death. 

Some part should also be spent in the sedulous 
employment of the knowing and reflecting faculties ; 
in studying the qualities of external objects, and 
their relations ; also the nature of all animated 
beings, and their relations ; not with the view of 
accumulating mere abstract and barren knowledge, 
but of enjoying the positive pleasure of mental 
activity, and of turning every discovery to account, 
as a means of increasing happiness, or alleviating 
misery, The leading object should always be to 
find out the relationship of every object of our own 
nature, organic, animal, moral, and intellectual, 
and to keep that relationship habitually in mind, so 
as to render our acquirements directly gratifying to 
our various faculties. The reward of this conduct 
would be an incalculably great increase of pleasure, 
in the very act of acquiring knowledge of the real 
properties of external objects, together with a great 
accession of power in reaping ulterior advantages, 
and in avoiding disagreeable affections. 

And some of our time ought to be devoted to 



AND MORAL LAWS. 31 

the cultivation and gratification of our moral 
sentiments ; that is to say, in exercising these in 
harmony with the intellect, and especially in 
acquiring the habit of admiring, loving, and yield- 
ing obedience to the Creator and his institutions. 
This last object is of vast importance. Intellect 
is barren of practical fruit, however rich it may 
be in knowledge, until it is fired and prompted to 
act by moral sentiment. In my view, knowledge 
by itself is comparatively worthless and impotent, 
compared with what it becomes when vivified by 
virtuous emotions. It is not enough that intellect 
is informed ; the moral faculties must simulta- 
neously co-operate ; yielding obedience to the 
precepts which the intellect recognizes to be true. 
One way of cultivating these sentiments would be 
for men to meet and act together, on the fixed 
principles which I am now endeavouring to unfold, 
to help each other in mutual instruction, and in 
united adoration of the great and glorious Creator. 
The reward of acting in this manner would be a 
communication of direct and intense pleasure to 
each other ; for I refer to every individual who has 
ever had the good fortune to pass a day or an hour 
with a really benevolent, pious, honest, and intel- 
lectual man, whose soul swelled with adoration of 
his Creator, whose intellect was replenished with 



32 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS. 

knowledge of his works, and whose whole mind 
was instinct with sympathy for human happiness, 
whether such a day did not afford him the 
most pure, elevated, and lasting gratification 
he ever enjoyed. Such an exercise, besides, 
would invigorate the whole moral and intellectual 
powers, and fit them to discover and obey the 
divine institutions. 



CHAPTER III. 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 

Man is created to be happy. His desires and the 
wisdom of the Creator concur to prove the asser- 
tion. Yet the earth resounds with the complaints 
of the unhappy, although they are encompassed 
with the means of enjoyment, of which they appear 
to know neither the value nor the use. They 
resemble the shipwrecked mariner, on a desert isle, 
surrounded with fruits, of the properties of which 
he is ignorant, as he is doubtful whether they offer 
nourishment or poison. 

I was early impelled to investigate the character 
and motives of the crowd around me, eagerly 
rushing forward in pursuit of happiness. I soon 
noted multitudes relinquishing the chase in indolent 
despondency, who affirmed, that they no longer 



34 GENERAL VIEWS OP HAPPINESS. 

believed in the existence of the boon. I felt an 
insatiate craving", and saw life through the illusive 
colouring of youth. Unwilling to resign my hopes, 
I enquired of others, who seemed possessed of 
greater strength of mind, and more weight of 
character, if they could guide me to the place of 
happiness ? Some answered with an ill-concealed 
smile of derision, and others with bitterness. 
They declared, that in their view the pleasures of 
life were more than counterbalanced by its pains. 
Because they were disappointed and discouraged, 
they deemed that their superior wisdom had 
enabled them to strip off the disguises of life, and 
contemplate it with sullen resignation. 

Man was made to be happy ! How is this ? 
Look at yonder town; besides spires and mansions, 
I see hovels, poor, blind, lame, profligate youth, 
and imbecile age ; and even in the abodes of 
external comfort and opulence, the sick and dying 
hanging in agonies of suspense upon the coun- 
tenances of their physician and friends, as they 
catch gleams of hope or shades of despair from 
their aspect. Many of these sick, even if they 
recover, will only be restored to trembling age, to 
perpetual and incurable infirmity, and to evils 
worse than death. Yet, unhappy in living, and 
afraid to die, they cling to this wretched existence. 
as though it were the highest boon. These varied 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 35 

•shades of misery that the picture before me will 
present to the slightest inspection, in ten thousand 
forms and combinations, are visible in every part 
of our world. I, too, the observer may add, shall 
soon add to the deepness of the shading. My 
friends will depart in succession ; and in my turn, 
on the bed of death, I shall thus look in the faces 
of those most dear to me, as I am compelled to 
depart out of life. What an affecting contrast 
with what I see and what I am ! 

Why there is this partial evil in the world is not 
a question which I shall here attempt to solve ; for 
I could add nothing to what has already been said 
upon the subject. It is enough that the evil does 
actually exist. Is it remediless ? Can life be so 
spent as to leave a balance of enjoyment set over 
against the evil ? These are my questions. There 
will always be inequality, ignorance, vice, disease, 
a measureless amount of misery and death. What 
portions of the evils of life can be cured ? What 
portion must be manfully, and piously endured ? 
What transient gleams of joy can be made to 
illumine the depth of shade ? 

I remarked others in high places, whose restless 
activity and brilliance dazzled the multitude and 
inspired envy. I eagerly asked of them the secret 
of happiness. Too proud and self-satisfied to 
dissemble, thev made little effort to conceal their 



36 GENERAL VIEWS OP HAPPINESS, 

principles. I saw their hearts contracted by the 
vileness of egotism, and devoured with insatiate 
ambition. A faithful scrutiny, which penetrated 
beyond their dazzling exterior, showed me the 
righteous reaction of their principles, and con- 
vinced me that they suffered according to their 
deserts. 

Weary and disheartened, I left them, and re- 
paired to the class of stern and austere moralists. 
They represented the world to me as a melancholy 
and mysterious valley, through which the sojourner 
passes, groaning on his way to the grave. Their 
doctrines inspired me at once with sadness and 
terror. I soon resumed the elastic confidence of 
youth, and replied, " I will never believe that the 
Author of my being, who has implanted in my 
heart such pure and tranquil pleasures, who has 
rendered man capable of chaste love, and of friend- 
ship in its sanctity, who has formed us innocent 
before we could practise virtue, and who has 
connected the salutary bitterness of repentance 
with errors, has unalterably willed our misery. 5 ' 

Thence I passed to the opposite extreme, and 
accosted a gay and dissipated throng, whose 
deportment showed that they had found the object 
of my pursuit. I discovered them to be fickle by 
character, and vacillating from indifference. They 
had only escaped the errors of the moralists, by 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 37 

substituting, in place of their austere maxims, 
enjoyments without any regard to consequences. I 
asked them to point me to happiness. Without 
comprehending the import of my question, thev 
offered me participation in their pleasures. But I 
saw them prodigal of life, dissipating- years in a 
few days, and reserving the remnant of their 
existence for unavailing repentance. 

In view of so many observations, I abandoned 
the idea of guiding my researches by the counsels 
of others ; and began to enquire for the secret in 
my own bosom. I heard the multitude around me 
complaining, in disappointment and discourage- 
ment. I resolved, that I would not commence the 
pursuit of happiness by servilely following in their 
beaten path. I determined to reflect, and patiently 
investigate a subject of so much moment. I 
detected at once the error of the common impres- 
sion, that pleasure and happiness are the same. 
The former, fickle and fleeting, assumes forms as 
various as human caprice ; and its most attractive 
charm is novelty. The object which gives it birth 
to-day, ceases to please, or inspires disgust to- 
morrow. The perception of happiness is not thus 
changeable and transient. It creates the con- 
sciousness of an existence so tranquil and satisfying, 
that the longer we experience it, the more we 
desire to prolong its duration. 



38 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 

Another mistaken, though common impression 
is, that the more profoundly we reflect, and make 
the pursuit of happiness a study, the less we shall 
be likely to enjoy. This is an error not only in 
regard to happiness, but even pleasure. If it be 
innocent, and exempt from danger, — to analyze it 
and reason upon it, so far from diminishing;, 
prolongs the delight, and renders it higher. "With- 
out reflection we only skim its surface ; we do 
not penetrate, and enjoy it. 

Let us observe the few who have acquired the 
wisdom to enjoy that existence which the multitude 
waste. In their festal unions of friendship, let us 
mark the development of their desire to multiply 
the happy moments of life. By what ingenious 
and pleasant discussions do they heighten the 
charms of their condition ! With what delicacy 
of tact do they analyze their enjoyments, to taste 
them with a more prolonged and exquisite relish ! 
"With what skill do they discipline themselves 
sometimes to efface the images of the future, that 
nothing may embitter, or distract their relish of the 
present ; and sometimes to invoke remembrances 
and hopes, to impart to it still brighter embellish- 
ments ! 

Contrary to the prevalent impression, I, therefore, 
deem that, to reflect much upon it, is one of the 
wisest means in the pursuit of happiness. The 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 39 

first analysis of reflection, it is true, dispels the 
charm with which youth invests existence. It 
forces the conviction upon us, that the pleasures of 
life are less durable, and its forms more numerous 
and prolonged than we had anticipated. The first 
result of the process is discouragement. But, as 
we continue to reflect, objects change their aspect 
a second time. The evils which at the first glance 
seemed so formidable, lose a portion of their terrific 
semblance ; and the fleeting pleasures of existence 
receive new attractions from their analogy to 
human weakness. 

Thev mistake, too, who suppose that the art on 
which I write has never been taught. The sages 
of Greece investigated the science of happiness as 
eloquently and profoundly, as they studied the 
other sciences. They wisely held the latter in 
estimation only so far as they were subservient to 
the former. In all succeeding ages there have 
arisen a few thinking men, who have regarded all 
their faculties, their advantages of nature and 
fortune, their studies and acquirements, not as ends 
in themselves, but as means conducive to the right 
pursuit of happiness. 

So long a period has elapsed since this has been 
a subject of investigation, that when the opinion is 
advanced that this pursuit may be successfully 
conducted by system, its rules reduced to an art, 



40 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 

and thus become assimilated to those of the other 
arts, most men are utterly incredulous. No truth 
however, is more simple. To attain to a knowledge 
of the rules, it is only requisite, as in the other 
arts, that there should be natural dispositions for 
the study, favourable circumstances, and an assi- 
duous investigation of the precepts. 

The influence of fortunate dispositions for this 
study is chiefly discernible in men of marked and 
energetic character. Some are endowed by nature 
with such firmness and force of character, that 
misfortune cannot shake them. It slides, if I may 
so speak, over the surface of their stoical hearts, 
and the shock of adversity inspires them almost 
with a sort of pleasure, calling forth the conscious 
feeling of power and independence for resistance. 
But we observe the greater number shrinking from 
affliction, and even images of sadness, enjoying the 
present without apparent consciousness, and for- 
getting the past without regret. Always fickle and 
frivolous, they evade suffering by recklessness and 
gaiety. The most perfect organization for happi- 
ness imparts at the same time great force to resist 
the pains of life, and keen sensibility to enjoy its 
pleasures. I am aware that great energy and 
quick sensibility are generally supposed to be 
incompatible qualities ; I have, nevertheless, often 
seen them united, I could lay down precepts, by 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 41 

which to obtain the combination. By a more 
perfect education, it is hoped that, in future, this 
union may become general. 

I yield entire faith to the doctrine, that, estimate 
these evils as highly as you may, a balance of 
enjoyment may still be struck in favour of life. I 
do not doubt, that more than one half the suffering 
and sorrow which every individual endures is 
simply of his own procuring, and not only that it 
might have been wholly avoided, but that positive 
enjoyment might have been substituted in its place. 
An inconceivable mass of misery would at once be 
struck from the sum, if, as I have alreadv remarked, 
we knew the physical, organic and moral laws of 
our being, and conformed ourselves to them. A 
uniform, consistent and thorough education would 
cure us of innumerable errors of opinion, injurious 
habits, and a senile conformity to established 
prejudices : and would impart to us wisdom, force 
of character, and resignation, to enable us to 
sustain as we ought, those that are unavoidable. 
Imperfection, pain, decav, and death, among the 
inevitable events pertaining to organized beings, 
would remain. The dignity of true philosophy, 
the stern consciousness of the necessity of courage, 
profound and filial submission to the divine will, 
and the well-defined hopes of religion, would ac- 
complish the remainder. 



42 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 

This classification of the great divisions of otir 
species, as they are occupied in the pursuit of 
happiness, seems to me both happy and just. The 
disappointed, who affirm that the earth offers no 
happiness ; the gloomy, who view life as a place 
of penance, austerity, and tears ; the dissipated 
and voluptuous, who seek only pleasure, and whose 
doctrine is, that life offers no happiness but in 
unbridled indulgence ; the ambitious, who consider 
happiness to consist only in wealth, power and 
distinction ; and a very numerous class, who have 
no object in view, but to vegetate through life by 
chance, constitute the great mass of mankind. The 
number of those who have lived by system, and 
disciplined themselves to the wise and calculating 
pursuit of happiness, has always been small. But 
there have still been some, enough to prove the 
practicability of the art. Wherever we find a per- 
son, who declares that he has lived happily, if his 
enjoyments have been of a higher kind, than the 
mere vegetative easiness of a felicitous temperament, 
and an unthinking joyousness, we shall find on 
enquiry, that he has been a philosopher in the 
highest and best sense. He may scarcely under- 
stand the import of the term; but, however 
ignorant of systems, and the learning of the 
schools, if he have made it his chief business, to 
learn by the study of himself, and general observa- 



GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 43 

tion, how to be happy, he is the true sage. He 
may well be content, let others regard him as they 
may ; for he has put in requisition the best wisdom 
of life. No one maxim, especially, ever included 
more important and practical truth, than that, to 
be happy, we must assiduously train ourselves to 
retain through life a keen and juvenile freshness of 
sensibility to enjoyment ; and must early learn to 
anticipate the effect of experience and years in 
cultivating a stern indifference, a strong spirit of 
endurance, and unshrinking obtuseness to pain. 

Perhaps some will ask, if he who thus assumes 
to teach the art of happiness has himself learned 
to be constantly happy ? Endowed with a moderate 
share of philosophy, and aided by favourable cir- 
cumstances, I have thus far found the pleasures 
of life greatly overbalancing its pains. But who 
can hope for felicity without alloy ? I would not 
conceal that I have had my share of inquietudes 
and regrets ; and I have sometimes forgotten my 
principles. I resemble the pilot, who gives lessons 
upon his art after more than one shipwreck, 



CHAPTER IV. 



OUR DESIRES. 

Whence are our most common sufferings ? From 
desires which surpass our ability to satisfy them. 
Fabulous story relates, that a superior being ap- 
peared to a virtuous man, and said, " Form a wish, 
and I will grant it;" " Source of light,' , replied 
the sage, " I only wish to limit my desires by those 
things, which nature has rendered indispensable." 

Let us not suppose, however, that a negative 
happiness, a condition exempt from suffering, is 
the most fortunate condition to which we may 
aspire. They who contend for this gloomy system, 
have but poorly studied the nature of man. If he 
errs in desiring positive enjoyments, if his highest 
aim ought to be, to live free from pain, the caves 
of the forest conceal those happy beings whom 
we ought to choose for our models. 



OUR DESIRES. 45 

Bounded by the present, animals sleep, eat, 
procreate, live without inquietude, and die with- 
out regret : and this is the perfection of negative 
happiness, Man, it is true, loses himself in vain 
projects. His long remembrances, create him 
suffering in reference to the past, and his keen 
foresight pains him in prospect of the future. His 
imagination brings forth errors; his liberty, crimes. 
But the abuse of his faculties does not disprove 
their excellence. Let him consecrate aright that 
time which he has hitherto lost in mourning over 
their aberrations, and he will have reason to be 
grateful to the Creator, for having given him the 
most exalted rank among sublunary beings. If, 
on the other hand, he chooses to abandon that 
rank, in which he ought to rejoice, he will degrade 
his immortal nature at his own cost ; and will only 
add to his other evils the shame of wishing to 
render himself vile, 

Let us examine those animals, the instincts of 
which have the nearest relation to intelligence. 
Not one of them takes possession of the paternal 
heritage, increases it, and transmits it to posterity, 
Man alone does this, improves his condition and 
his kind, and in this is essentially distinct from all 
other beings below. From the Eternal to man, 
and from man to animals, the chain is twice 
broken. 



46 OUR DESIRES. 

For man, the absence of suffering and a negative 
happiness, are not sufficient. His noble faculties 
refuse the repose of indifference. Created to aspire 
to whatever may be an element of enjoyment, let 
him cherish his desires, and let them indicate to 
him the path of happiness ; too fortunate, if they 
do not entice him towards objects, which retire in 
proportion as he struggles to attain them, and 
towards those imaginary joys, of which the deceit- 
ful possession is more fertile in regrets than in 
pleasures. 

Far from being the austere censor of desires, I 
admit, that they often produce charming illusions. 
What loveliness have they not spread over our 
spring of life ! Our imagination at that time, as 
brilliant and as vivid as our age, embellished the 
whole universe, and every position in which our 
lot might one day place us. We were occupied 
with errors ; but they were happy errors ; and to 
desire was to enjoy. 

Those enchanting dreams, which hold such a 
delightful place in the life of every man, whose 
imagination is gay and creative, spring from our 
desires. Ingenious fictions ! Prolific visions ! 
While ye cradle us, we possess the object of our 
magic reveries. Real possession may be less fugi- 
tive. But does it not also often vanish like a 
dream ? 



OUR DESIRES. 47 

Wherever civilized man has been found, the first 
effort of his mind, beyond the attainment of his 
animal wants, has been to travel into the regions 
of imagination, to create a nobler and more beau- 
tiful world than the dull and common-place existing 
one ; to assign to man a higher character and 
purer motives than belong to the actual race. To 
possess a frame inaccessible to pain and decay, and 
to dwell in eternal spring, surrounded by beauty 
and truth, is an instinctive desire. A mind of any 
fertility can create and arrange such a scene ; and 
in this cheaming occupation the sensations are 
tranquillizing and pleasant, beyond the more ex- 
citing enjoyment of actual fruition. Truly, I cannot 
deem the propensity for this sort of meditation, 
either unworthy in itself, or as tending to conse- 
quences to be deprecated. So far as my own 
experience goes, and I am not without my share, 
it neither enervates nor satiates. It furnishes 
enjoyment that is ^alm and soothing; and such 
enjoyment, instead of enfeebling, invigorates the 
mind to sustain trials and sorrows. Why should 
we not enter into every enjoyment that is followed 
by no painful consequences ? Why should we not 
be happy when we may ? Is he not innocently 
employed, who is imagining a fairer scene, a better 
world, more benevolence and more joy than this 
" visible diurnal sphere ' affords ? 



48 OUR DESIRES. 

Addison is never presented to me in a light so 
amiable as when he relates his day-dreams, his 
universal empire, in 'which he puts down all folly 
and all wickedness, and makes all his personages 
good and happy. 

Doubtless there are dangers blended with these 
seductive imaginings. In leaving the region of 
illusion, the greater part of men look with regret 
upon the abodes of reality, in which they must 
henceforward dwell. Let us lot share their gloomy 
weakness. Let us learn tc enjoy the moments 
of error, and perpetuate and renew them by re- 
membrance. Children only re allowed to weep, 
when the waking moment annihilates the toys, of 
which a dream had given them possession. 

We give ourselves up to illusions without dan- 
ger, if we have formed our reason ; if we wisely 
think, that the situation where our lot has placed 
us may have advantages which no other could 
offer. Imagination embellishes some hours with- 
out troubling any. Prompt to yield to the delight- 
ful visions, there are few of which I have not 
contemplated the charm. In seeing them vanish 
like a fleeting dream, I look round on my wife 
and children, and believe that I am remembered by 
a few friends. I open my heart to the pleasures 
of my retreat, which, though simple, are ever new. 
As the gilded creations of imagination disappear, 



OUR DESIRES. 49 

I smile at my creative occupation, and console 
myself with the consciousness, that fancy can paint 
nothing brighter or more satisfying than these my 
realities. 

But let me hasten to make an important dis- 
tinction to prevent the semblance of contradiction. 
Let me discriminate those fleeting desires which 
amuse or delude us for a moment, from those deep 
cravings which, directing all our faculties towards 
a given end, necessarily exercise a strong influence 
upon life. It is time to contemplate the latter, 
and to suggest more grave reflections. While the 
scope of our faculties is limited to narrow bounds, 
our desires run out into infinity. From this fact 
result two reflections ; the one afflicting, that the 
multitude are miserable, because it is easier to form 
than to obtain our wishes ; the other consoling, 
that they might be happy, since every one, by 
divine aid, may regulate his desires. 

Reduced to the necessity to realize, or restrain 
them, which course does wisdom indicate ? Will 
ambition conduct us to repose ? I know well, that 
in every rank and position, the inculcation of aspi- 
ring thoughts, emulation and rivalry, is the first 
and last lesson, the grand and beaten precept, upon 
which the million are acting. I am well aware, 
how many hearts are wrung by all the fierce and 
tormenting passions associated with this devouring 



50 OUR DESIRES. 

one. I affirm nothing in regard to my own interior 
views, respecting what the world calls fame, glory, 
and immortality. Those who are most dear to 
me, will not understand me to be entering my 
caveat to dissuade them from "this last infirmity 
of noble minds. " Could I do it with more elo- 
quence than ever yet flowed from tongue or pen, 
there will always be a hundred envious competitors 
for every single niche in the temple of fame. 
It can be occupied but by one ; and he who gains 
it will exult in his elevation only during its fresh- 
ness and novelty. The rest, to the torment of 
fostered and devouring desires, will add the bitter- 
ness of disappointment. 

I have little doubt, if an exact balance of enjoy- 
ment and suffering could be struck, at the last 
hour, between two persons whose circumstances in 
other respects had been similar, one of whom had 
been distinguished in place and power, in conse- 
quence of cultivating ambition ; and the other 
obscure in peaceful privacy, in consequence of 
having chosen that condition, that the scale of 
happiness would decidedly incline in favour of the 
latter. In a word, it is the index of sound calcu- 
lation, to prepare for the fate of the million rather 
than that of the few. I shall be asked, what is to 
stimulate to exertion, to study, toil, and sacrifice, 
to great and noble actions, and what shall lead to 



OUR DESIRES. 51 

fame and renown, if this incentive be taken away ? 
I answer, that what is ordinarily dignified with the 
appellation of ambition, is a vile mixture of the 
worst feelings of our nature. There is in all minds, 
truly noble, a sufficient impulse towards great 
actions, apart from these movements, which are 
generally the excitements of little and mean spirits. 
Take the w T hole nature of man into the calculation, 
and there can never be a want of sufficient impulse 
towards distinction, without a particle of those 
contemptible motives, which are generally put to 
the account of praiseworthy excitement. Truly 
great men have been remarkable for their exemption 
from envy, the inseparable concomitant of con- 
scious deficiency ; and for a certain calm and 
tranquil spirit, indicating moderation and compara- 
tive indifference in the struggle of emulation. They 
are able to say, in regard to the highest boon of 
ambition, 

" I neither spurn, nor for the favour call ; 
It comes unasked-for, if it comes at all." 

He who moderates his desires may also think 
thus, — " No one can show me the mind, or paint 
me the consciousness of the ambitious aspirant. 
Divine Providence, and my own choice, have as- 
signed me the shade. Let me not embitter its 



52 OUR DESIRES. 

coolness and its satisfactions by idle desires to 
unite advantages that are, in their nature, incon- 
gruous. Let me remember, that mine is the 
condition of the million. My Creator cannot have 
doomed so vast a proportion of his creatures to a 
state which is necessarily miserable. All that 
remains to me is to make the best of the common 
lot." 

He who chases the phantoms of ambition, 
resembles the child who imagines that he shall be 
able to grasp the rainbow, which spans the 
mountain in the distance ; still from mountain to 
mountain, a new horizon spreads before his eyes. 
But the courage and perseverance requisite to regu- 
late our desires, may intimidate us. We vex our- 
selves in the pursuit of fortune, honour and glory. 
Philosophy is worth more than the whole, and do 
we expect to purchase it without pain ? True, she 
declares to us, that to realize our desires is a part 
of the science of happiness ; but by no means the 
most important one. Yet it is the only one to 
which most men devote themselves. Philosophy 
should teach us, what desires we ought to receive 
and cherish, as inmates. When they are fleeting, 
and spring from a gay and creative imagination, 
let us yield ourselves without fear to their transient 
dreams. But when they may exercise a long and 
decisive influence, let a mature examination teach 



OUR DESIRES. 53 

us, whether wisdom allows the attempt to realize 
them. How much uncertainty and torment might 
we spare our weakness, if from infancy we directed 
our pursuit towards the essential objects of felicity, 
and if we stripped those, which, in their issue, 
produce chimerical hopes and bitter regrets, of 
their deceitful charms ! What gratitude should 
we not owe that provident instruction, whose cares 
should indicate., and smooth our road to happiness ! 
The great results, which might be obtained from 
education, would be, to moderate the desires, and 
to find some indemnities for the sorrows of life. 
On the present plan, by arousing our emulation, 
by enkindling our instinctive ardour to increase 
our fortune, and eclipse our rivals, we make it 
a study, if I may so say, to render ourselves dis- 
contented with our lot ; and, as if afraid that we 
should not be sufficiently perverted by the conta- 
gion of example, we invoke ambition and cupidity 
to enter the soul. We treat as chimerical those 
desires, which are so simple and pure, as to be 
pleasures of themselves, and which look to a happi- 
ness easy of attainment. 

Let us, then, unlearn most of the ideas we have 
received. Let us close our eyes on the illusions 
which surround us. Let us re-mould our plan of 
life, and retain in the heart only those desires 
which our Creator has placed there. Let reflection 



54 OUR DESIRES. 

impart energy to our mind, and be our guide in 
the new path which reason opens before us. 

We shall be told, that these desires animate us 
unsought and continually. I admit it. But in 
most men they are simple results of instinct, and 
are vague, and without decisive effect. A craving 
for happiness is diffused as widely as life. The 
enlightened desire of happiness is as rare as wis- 
dom. The mass of our species do not avail them- 
selves of life, to enjoy it ; but apparently for other 
purposes. My first and fundamental maxim is, 
that no one should live by chance. Freed from 
vulgar ideas, and guided by the principles of true 
wisdom, let happiness be our end ; and let us view 
all our employments and pursuits, as means. 

I meet men of sanguine temperament, who say 
in the pride of internal energy, — My calculations 
must succeed ; I am certain to acquire wealth. 
Another of the same class assures me, that he sees 
no turn to his rapid career of advancement ; and 
that he is confident of reaching the summit of 
greatness. What more fortunate result can he 
propose, than happiness ? My pupil should make 
all his plans subservient to the numbering of happy 
days even from the commencement of his career. 

The young should be early imbued with the 
sentiment, that God sent them here to be happy ; 
not in indolence, intoxication, or voluptuousness, 



OUR DESIRES. 55 

but in earnest and vigorous discipline, in the dis- 
charge of the duties of their station. And at this 
bright epoch, when nature spreads a charm over 
existence, a well- instructed teacher may easily train 
them to invest their studies, labours, and pursuits, 
and perhaps even their privations, and severer toils, 
with a colouring of cheerfulness and gaiety, when 
contemplated as the only means by which they may 
hope to reach a desired end. They should be 
trained to meet events, and brave the shock of 
adversity, in resigning themselves to the divine 
will. In other words, they should make enjoyment 
a means, as well as an end, that they may carry 
onward, from their first days, an accumulating 
stock of happiness, with which courage and cheer- 
fulness may paint future anticipations in the mellow 
lustre of past remembrances. In this way the bow 
of promise may be made to bend its brilliant arch 
over every period of this transient existence, con- 
necting what has been, and what will be, in the 
same radiant span. 

Entertaining such views of the direction which 
might be given to the juvenile mind, I mourn over 
those weak parents, who are nursing their children 
with effeminate fondness, not allowing the winds 
to visit them too roughly, pampering their wishes, 
instead of teaching them to repress them ; and 



56 OUR DESIRES. 

rather striving to ward from thern all pains and 
privations, than teaching them that they must en- 
counter many sorrows and disappointments, and 
disciplining them to breast the ills of life w T ith 
a conquering fortitude. Opulence generally gives 
birth to this injudicious plan of parental education. 
Penury, as little directed by sound views, but im- 
pelled by the stern teaching of necessity, imparts 
to the children of the poor, a much more salutary 
discipline, and they ordinarily come forward with a 
more robust spirit, with more vigour, power and 
elasticity ; and this is one way in which providence 
adjusts the balance of advantages between these 
different conditions. 

It would be no disadvantage even to the ambi- 
tious and aspiring to abstract, from the toils of 
their pursuit, the bitter and corroding spirit of 
rivalry and envy, and in its stead to cultivate sen- 
timents of kindness, complacency and moderation. 
Let their ends be so noble, as to give an air of 
dignity to the means that they employ, and they 
will throw a splendour of self-respect over their 
course. Let the aspirant say, "I struggle not for 
myself, but to procure competence for aged parents, 
to gild their declining years with the view of my 
success. It is for dependent relatives, orphans, the 
poor and friendless, whom Providence has given 



OUR DESIRES. 57 

particular claims on me, that I struggle. It is to 
benefit and gladden those who are dearer to me 
than life, and not for my own sordid vanity and 
ambition, that I strive to toil up the ascent of 
fame." 

Let us beware, however, of aspiring after a per- 
fect felicity. The art I discuss, will not descend 
from heaven. Its object is, to indicate desirable 
situations, to guide us towards them, when they 
offer, and to remove the vexations of life. The 
greater part of mankind might exist in comfort. 
They fail of this, in aiming at impracticable ameli- 
oration of their condition. It is an egregious folly 
only to contemplate the dark side of our case. I 
deem it a mark of wisdom and strength of mind, 
rather to exaggerate its advantages. 

The necessity of moderating our desires and 
reducing them within the limits of what we may 
reasonably hope to acquire, has been the beaten 
theme of prose and song. Yet, who can calculate 
the sum of torment that has been inflicted by wild 
and unreasonable desires, by visionary and puerile 
expectations, beyond all probable bounds of means 
to realize them, indulged and fostered until they 
have acquired the force of habit ! Whose memory 
cannot recur to sufferings from envy and ill-will, 



58 OUR DESIRES. 

generated by cupidity, for the possessions and 
advantages of others that we have not ; Who can 
connt the pangs which he has endured from ex- 
travagant and unattainable wishes ! Poetry calls 
our mortal sojourn a vale of tears ; yet what in- 
genuity to multiply the gratuitous means of self-tor- 
ment. Has another health, wealth, beauty, fortune, 
endowment, which I have not ? Envy will neither 
take them from him, nor transfer them to me. 
Why, then, should I allow vultures to prey upon 
my spirit ? Learn neither to regret what you want 
and cannot supply, nor to hate him who is more 
fortunate. With all his apparent advantages over 
you, he wants, perhaps, what you may possess, a 
tranquil mind. There is little doubt that you are 
the happier person if you contemplate his advan- 
tages and his possessions with a cheerful and 
unrepining spirit. 

In indulging your desires beyond reason, you 
are fostering internal enemies and becoming a 
self-tormentor. The higher gifts of fortune, the 
common objects of envious desire, are awarded to 
but a few. The number of those who may enter- 
tain any reasonable hope of reaching them, is very 
small. But every one can moderate his desires. 
Every one can set bounds to his ambition. Every 
one can limit his expectations. What influence 



OUR DESIRES. .59 

can fortune, events, or power exercise over a per- 
son, who has learned to be content with a little, 

and who has acquired courage to resign even that 
without repining ! Franklin might well smile at the 
impotent rualice of those who would deprive him 
of his means and his business, when he proved to 
them that he could live on turnips and rain water. 
It is not the less true or important, because it has 
been a million times said, that happiness, the crea- 
ture of the mind, dwells not in external things. 

Let us carefully ascertain, what things are indis- 
pensable to our well-being ; and let us discipline 
all our desires towards the acquisition of them. 
If I consult those who are driven onward by the 
whirlwind of hie, to learn what objects are abso- 
lutely necessary to my end, what a long catalogue 
they will name ! If I ask some moralists, how 
many sacrifices incompatible with human nature, 
will they impose ! Agitated, and uncertain, I am 
conscious, that my powers are equally insufficient 
to amass all which the former prescribe, or to tear 
me from all which the latter disdainfully interdict. 

In examining this all-important subject, without 
the spirit oi system, I realize, that the essentials 
of a happy life are tranqiiillitv of mind, indepen- 
dence, health, competence, and the affection of 
some of our equals. Let us strive to acquire them. 



60 OUR DESIRES. 

They are numerous, I admit, and difficult to unite 
in the possession of an individual. Nevertheless, 
if a severe discrimination enabled us to bound our 
pursuit by the desire of obtaining only these ob- 
jects, what a great and happy change would be 
effected upon the earth ; and how many disappoint- 
ments would be henceforward unknown ! 



CHAPTER V. 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

By the word tranquillity, I designate that state 
of the mind, in which, estranged from the weak- 
nesses of life, it tastes that happy calm which it 
owes to its own power and elevation. Inaccessible 
to storms, it still admits those emotions which give 
birth to pure pleasures, and yields to the generous 
movements which the virtues inspire* Tranquillity 
seems ^difference only in the eyes of the vulgar ; 
but a delightful consciousness of existence accom- 
panies it. We should meditate with thankfulness 
upon the causes which produce it. Without rea- 
soning we respire and enjoy it; it is the appropriate 
pleasure of the sage. 

A pure conscience is the most profound source of 
this delightful calm. Without it, we shall attempt 
in vain to veil our faults from ourselves, or to listen 



62 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

only to the voice of adulation. An interior witness 
must testify that we have sometimes sought oc- 
casions to be useful; and that we have always 
welcomed those who offered us opportunities to do 
good. 

Another condition, equally necessary, is to close 
the heart against unregulated ambition. I am well 
aware, in laying down this precept, that I shall be 
deemed an idle dreamer. If you are convinced 
beyond argument that there is nothing worth seek- 
ing in life but distinctions and honours, you may 
close the volume. If you are ready to receive these 
brilliant illusions when they come unsought, and 
return to the repose of your heart should you 
obtain them not, you may reflect with advantage 
on my lessons. 

To consecrate to true enjoyment as many days 
as possible, to lose in disquieting desires as few 
moments as we may, these are the elements of my 
philosophy. The world, on the other hand, in- 
cessantly repeats, " Shine, — ascend high places, — 
bind fortune to your chariot wheels;" the multitude 
listen, and consume life in tormenting desires 
which end in disappointment. I say to my disciple, 
Make your pursuit, whatever it be, a source of 
present enjoyment, and be happy without delay. 
But the cry of objection reaches me, would you 
wish him to remain in obscurity, and never tran- 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 63 

scene! the limits of the narrow circle in which he 
was born ? I would have him enjoy the self-re- 
spect of conscious usefulness, and taste all the 
innocent pleasures of the senses of the heart and 
of the mind. Farther than these, I see nothing 
but the miserable inquietudes of vanity. I admit 
that the pleasures of gratified ambition are high 
flavoured and intoxicating; but compelled to choose 
among enjoyments which cannot all be tasted to- 
gether, I balance the delights which they spread 
over life with the pains which it must cost to obtain 
them. If I incline to ambition, I must ny privacy 
and my retreat ; and renounce the pleasures which 
my family, friends, and free pursuits daily renew. 
I must no longer inhabit the paradise of my plea- 
sant dreams. Abandoning the simple and sincere 
enjoyments of obscurity, I abandon repose and 
independence. 

Suppose I obtain those honours of which the 
distant brilliancy dazzles my vision, what destiny 
can I propose to myself ? How long can I enjoy my 
honours ? Besieged by incessant alarm, through 
fear of losing them, how often shall I sigh over the 
ill-judged exchange by which I bartered peace and 
privacy for them ? Number all the truly happy 
days of the ambitious ; they are those in which, 
forming his projects, and, in his imagination, 
removing the obstacles that lie in his way, he 



64 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

embellishes Ms career with the illusions of his 
fancy. Too often the desired objects, which, in 
the distance glittered in his eyes, resemble those 
paintings which, seen from afar, present enchanting 
scenery* but offer only revolting views when beheld 
close at hand, 

I wish to avoid the usual exaggeration upon 
these subjects, Moralists deceive us when paint- 
ing the contrast between the virtues and the vices; 
they assign unmingled felicity to the one, and 
absolute misery to the other. ' I am sensible that 
even in his deepest inquietudes, and notwithstand- 
ing his desires and regrets, the votary of ambition 
still has his moments of intoxicating pleasure. It 
is not this alone, but happiness that we seek, If 
we wish only to toil up the heights of ambition to 
enjoy the dignities of the summit, counsels are 
useless. If we ask for nothing more than pleasure, 
they may be varied to infinity, and be found per- 
vading all situations in forms appropriate to all 
characters. This hypocrite, that victim of envy, 
yonder miser, do they experience, the moralist will 
ask, nothing but torment ? Mark the misanthrope 
who incessantly repeats that in a world peopled 
with perverse beings and malign spirits, existence 
is an odious burden. This man, notwithstanding, 
finds his pleasure in a world which he affects so 
much to detest. Every invective which he throws 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. G5 

out against it, is a eulogy reflected back upon 
himself. He rises in his own estimation in pro- 
portion as he debases others, and finds in himself 
all the qualities which he makes them want. Does 
he meet with a partisan of his principles ? how 
delightful for two misanthropes to communicate 
their discoveries, and to make a joint war of sar- 
casm upon the human race ! Does he find an 
antagonist ? he experiences a charm in controvert- 
ing him. Besides, as in vilifying human nature, 
no one can want * either facts or arguments to 
present it in hues sufficiently dark, in the compla- 
cency of conscious triumph, he terminates his war 
of words. 

The votary of ambition not only has pleasures 
which are often dazzling, but perhaps enjoyments 
not within the ordinary ken, which require pro- 
found observation. The ardent aspiration after 
success gives a charm to efforts in the struggle 
which would otherwise present only unmixed bit- 
terness. Acts in themselves vile, ridiculous, or 
revolting, contemplated as means essential to a 
proposed end, lose their meanness and tendency to 
lessen self-respect. It is possible, in this view, 
that even extraordinary humiliations may inspire 
the ambitious man with a sort of pride, in the con- 
sciousness that he has strength to stoop to them 
for his purposes. In fine, it is too true that a 



66 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

momentary pleasure may be found in the most 
capricious aberrations, the most shameful vices, and 
the most atrocious crimes. 

It will be seen that I abandon most of the trite 
declamation against ambition. I touch not on its 
long inquietudes, its inevitable torments, exacerba- 
ted a hundred-fold, if their victim preserve degrees 
of mental elevation, and remains of moral senti- 
ment. Life passes pleasantly among men who have 
just views, upright hearts and frank manners, the 
true elements of greatness and enjoyment. Sur- 
rounded by such minds, we respire, as it were, a 
free, and sometimes even a celestial atmosphere. 
Yield yourself to the empire of ambition ; and in all 
countries, and in all time, you condemn yourself to 
live surrounded by greedy, unquiet, false and vin- 
dictive intriguers, gnashing their teeth at all success 
in which they had no agency. All that encircle 
you unite insolence and baseness. 

Those who envy authority and office are worthy 
of commisseration. Men in power imagine they 
are happy ; they have but to wish, and it is accom- 
plished. The epitaph of the Swedish minister is 
sublime, and the index of great truth ; he had run 
the career of power and fortune with success : 
when near the period of his death, he ordered this 
inscription for his tomb, Tandem Felix, — at length 
I am happy. 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. G7 

We never leave the society of the great as we 
entered it ; we have become either better or more 
perverse. Inexperience is easily dazzled with the 
superficial splendour. For a man of disciplined 
mind and a character of energy, it is the most 
useful of schools. Here he tests and confirms his 
principles. Here he observes, sometimes with 
terror, sometimes with disgust, the melancholy 
results of the seductive passions. He here sees 
those who seem to have reached all their aims 
enjoying the repose of happy privacy. I anticipate 
the objection, " that this is all absurdity ; that not 
one will be so convinced of his misery as to resign 
his power and descend from his elevation to that 
obscurity for which he sighs. " I believe it ; and 
I see in this a deeper shade in his misery. He 
has so long experienced the pernicious excitement 
of this splendid torment, that he can no longer 
exist in repose. 

Such is the lot of erring humanity, that the 
world naturally associates glory and happiness 
with ambition, and sees not that the association is 
formed by our own mental feebleness. To rise 
above vulgar errors and the common train of think- 
ing, to form wise principles, and, still more, to 
have the courage and decision to follow them, this 
is the proof of real force of character. But to feel 
the need of dazzling the vulgar, to be willing to 



68 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

creep in order to rise, to struggle and dispute for 
trinkets, this is the common standard by which the 
multitude estimate a great mind. 

Philosophers are accused of having presented 
grandeur under an unfavourable aspect, in order 
to console themselves for not having enjoyed it. 
History reads us another lesson. Aristotle in- 
structed the son of Philip. Plato was received at 
the courts of kings. Cicero received the title of 
"father of his country/' by a decree of the senate. 
Boethius, thrice clad with the consulur purple, 
when his locks were hoary, was dragged to a dun- 
geon. He wrote "the Consolations inspired by 
Philosophy, " and laid down his book at the foot of 
the scaffold. Marcus Aurelius honoured the throne 
of the world by those modest virtues which shone 
still brighter in obscurity. Fenelon was raised to 
the highest dignities only to experience their bit- 
terness, and, like his great predecessor, to owe his 
glory and his happy days only to wisdom and re- 
tirement. Franklin will be remembered in all time, 
not as the governor, legislator and ambassador, 
but as having trained himself to his admirable 
philosophy of common sense amidst the laborious 
occupations of a printer. 

The certainty of acquiring the self-respect of 
conscious usefulness, a certainty which the great 
can seldom have, ought alone to determine a w T ise 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 69 

man to quit his obscurity. But if the emoluments 
and honours of a high station seduce us, let us 
value our independence, and let us not exchange 
treasure for tinsel. 



CHAPTER VI. 



OF MISFORTUNE. 

If we wish our precepts to be followed, we must 
avoid the extremes to which some moralists and 
philosophers are too much inclined to press their 
doctrines, for they are impracticable in real life. It 
is useless to deny that there are evils against which 
the aids of reason and friendship are powerless. 
Let us leave him who is about to lose a friend 
whose life is blended with his own, to sigh unre- 
proved, Time is necessary to enfeeble his remem- 
brances and assuage his pain. To render man 
inaccessible to suffering would be to change his 
nature. Those austere moralists who treat our 
feebleness with disdain, and who would render us 
indifferent to the most terrible blows of destiny, 
would at the same time leave us no sensibility or 



OF MISFORTUNE. 71 

enjoyment. Nothing can be more absurd than the 
vain harangues by which common-place consolation 
is offered to those who mourn a wife, a child, a 
friend. All reasonings are ineffectual when opposed 
to these words : "I have lost my friend : you 
inform me that my misfortune is without a remedy. 
If there were a remedy, instead of unavailing tears, 
I would employ it. It is precisely because there 
is none, that I grieve." " Your tears are useless." 
" Still they serve to solace me." " God has done 
it." " True, and God has formed my heart to 
suffer from his blow." " Your child is happy, and 
knew neither the errors nor the sorrows of life." 
" A parent's instinctive love inspired the desire that 
I might teach it to avoid both and obtain happi- 
ness." " In the course of a long career your friend 
gave an example of all the virtues." "It is because 
the loss of these virtues is irreparable to me that I 
must deplore his death." 

The greater portion of men, I admit, exaggera- 
ting their regrets, pay a tribute of dissembled grief 
rather to opinion than to nature ; and cold decla- 
mation, and frivolous distinctions are sufficient to 
console them. But the orators of consolation 
sometimes press their lessons on hearts which are 
really bleeding. Let such weep at liberty, and 
attempt not to contradict nature. Solitude may 
exalt the imagination : but it also inspires consoling 



72 OF MISFORTUNE. 

ideas. In the silence of its refuge the desolate 
mourner brings himself to a nearer communion 
with him whom he regrets. He invokes, sees, and 
addresses him. Grief is more ingenious than we 
imagine in finding consolation, and has learned to 
employ different remedies, according as the wounds 
are slight or deep. Two persons have each lost a 
dear friend. The one studiously avoids the places 
where he used to meet his friend. The other re- 
pairs to his desolate haunts, and surrounding 
himself by monuments associated with his memory, 
he seeks, if I may so say, to restore him to life. 

The death of a beloved wife is, perhaps, the most 
inconsolable of evils. Let this follow a series of 
other misfortunes ; and it so effaces their remem- 
brance, that the sufferer feels he has not until then 
known real grief. But if this affliction be one 
under which our strength is broken, let it be the 
only one to obtain this fatal triumph. Under all 
other misfortunes we may find in ourselves re- 
sources for sustaining them ; and may invariably 
either evade or assuage them, or mitigate their 
bitterness by resignation. 

Moralists have expatiated upon the manner in 
which a sage ought to contemplate the evils of life. 
Instead of subscribing to all their maxims, often 
more imposing than practicable, I sketch a sum- 
mary of my philosophy. I caution the feeble and 



OF MISFORTUNE. 73 

erring beings that surround me, not to dream of 
unmixed happiness. I invite them to partake 
promptly of all innocent pleasures. The evils too 
often appended to them may follow. Know no- 
thing of those which have no existence except in 
opinion. Struggle with courage to escape all that 
may be evaded. But if it become inevitable to 
meet them, let resignation, closing your eyes on 
the past, secure the repose of patient endurance, 
when happiness exists for you no longer. 

Permit me to give these ideas some develop- 
ment. If I may believe the most prevalent modern 
philosophy, tranquillity of mind is the result of 
organization, or temperament, and of circumstan- 
ces. I think that it is, at least in a great degree, 
of our own procuring ; and that we owe it still 
more to the masculine exercise of our reason, 
discipline, and mental energy, than to our tempera- 
ment or condition. 

We have reason to deplore that unhappy being, 
who, yielding to dreams of pleasure, forgets to 
fore-arm himself against a fatal awakening. The 
history of great political convulsions, and, more 
than all, that of the French revolution, furnishes 
impressive examples of this spectacle. It offers 
more than one instance, in the feebler sex, of 
persons who seemed created only to respire hap- 
piness. To the advantages of youth, talent, and 



74 OF MISFORTUNE. 

beauty, were united the most exalted rank, and 
wealth, pleasure, and power, apparently to the 
extent of their wishes. To the dazzling fascina- 
tion, with which a brilliant crowd surrounded their 
inexperience, many of them united the richer do- 
mestic enjoyments of the wife and mother. In the 
midst of their illusions, the revolutionary shout 
struck their ear, like a thunder- stroke; executioners 
bade them ascend the scaffold. 

These great catastrophes, I know, are rare. But 
there will never cease to be sorrows, which will 
receive their last bitterness only in death. They 
are all too painful to be sustained, unless they 
have been wisely foreseen. Let us think of mis- 
fortunes, as of certain companions with whom our 
lot may one day compel us to associate. 

It is novelty alone, which gives our emotions 
extreme keenness. Whoever has strength of cha- 
racter may learn to endure any thing. The red 
men of the American wilderness are most impres- 
sive examples of this truth ; — with what fortitude 
have they not borne the most extreme torture ! 
Time, however, is the most efficacious teacher of 
the lesson of endurance. Poussin, in his painting 
of Eudomidas, has delineated the human heart 
with fidelity. The young girl of the piece aban- 
dons herself to despair. Half stretched upon the 
earth, her head falls supinely on the knees of the 



OP MISFORTUNE. 75 

aged mother of the dying ; this mother is sitting ; 
her attitude announces mingled meditation and 
grief ; amidst her tears, we trace firmness on her 
visage ; one of the two women is taking her first 
lesson of misery ; the other has already passed 
through a long apprenticeship of grief. 

Reflection imparts anticipated experience. It 
takes from misery that air of novelty which renders 
it terrible. When a wise man experiences a re- 
verse, his new position has been foreseen. He has 
measured the sorrows, and prepared the consola- 
tions. Into whatever scene of trial he may be 
brought, he will endeavour not to show the em- 
barrassment of a stranger. 

Taught to be conscious that we are feeble 
combatants, thrown upon an arena of strife, let 
us not calculate that destiny has no blows in store 
for us. Let us prepare for wounds, painful and 
slow to heal ; let us blunt the darts of misfortune 
in advance. Then, if they strike, they will not 
penetrate so deep. But in premeditating the trials, 
which may be in reserve for our courage, let not 
anticipated solicitude disturb the present. Of all 
mental efforts, foresight is the most difficult to 
regulate. If we have it not, we fall into reverses 
unprepared. If we exercise it too far, we are 
perpetually miserable by anticipation. 

The true philosopher prepares himself for con- 



76 OF MISFORTUNE. 

tingent perils, by processes which impart a keener 
pleasure to present enjoyment. He better under- 
stands the value of the moments of joy, and learns 
to dispel the fears, which might mar their tran- 
quillity. That is a gloomy wisdom, which condemns 
the precepts that invite us to draw, from the un- 
certainty of our lot, a motive to embellish the 
moment of actual happiness. Transient beings, 
around whom every thing is changing and in 
motion, adopt my maxims. Let us aid those who 
surround us, to put them in practice. Let us 
render those who are happy to-day more happy. 
To-morrow the opportunity may have passed for 
ever. 

As though nature had not sowed sufficient sor- 
rows in our path during our short career, we have 
added to the mass by our own invention. The 
offspring of our vanity and puerile prejudices, these 
factitious pains, seem sometimes more difficult to 
support, than real evils. A warrior, who has 
shown fearless courage in the deadly breach, has 
passed a sleepless night, because he was not invited 
to a party, or a feast; or because a ribband has not 
been added to the many, with which he is already 
decorated. I had been informed, that the wife and 
son of a distinguished acquaintance were danger- 
ously sick. I met him pale and thoughtful. I was 
meditating, how to give him hope in regard to 



OF MISFORTUNE. 77 

the objects of his supposed anxiety. While I was 
hesitating how to address him, he made known the 
subject of his real inquietude ; he was in expecta- 
tion of a high employment ; the man of power, in 
whose hand was the gift, had just received him 
coldly a second time, and he was anxiously cal- 
culating his remaining chances, and striving to 
divine the causes of his discouraging reception. 

To avoid such ridiculous agonies, let us adopt a 
maxim, not the less true, because the phrase, in 
which I express it, may seem trivial. Three- 
quarters and half the remaining quarter of our 
vexations, are not worth wasting a thought upon 
their cause. The order of events, which we call 
by the name of chance, is often more sage than any 
that human calculation can arrange. If it decides 
in a manner which at first view seems greatly 
against us, let us defer our accusations, until we 
have more thoroughly examined the event. I have 
met a man, who had long been an aspirant for a 
certain place, with a radiant countenance, having 
just obtained it. Three months afterwards, he 
would have purchased at any price the power of 
recalling circumstances. I have seen another friend 
in desolation, because he could not obtain the hand 
of the daughter of a man, whose enterprises pro- 
mised an immense fortune ; he had been rejected. 
The speculations of her father all failed ; and the 



78 OF MISFORTUNE. 

reputation of his integrity and good faith with 
them. The despairing lover would have shared 
the poverty and disgrace of a helpless family ; and 
would have been tormented besides, with an in- 
compatible union, of itself sufficient to have 
rendered him miserable in the midst of all the 
expected prosperity. One event is contemplated 
with a charmed eye ; another with despair. The 
issue alone can declare, which of the two we ought 
to have desired. We do well, therefore, to acqui- 
esce in the wise and kind arrangements of divine 
Providence. 

I grant, that we are surrounded by real dangers. 
I pretend not to be above suffering ; and I attach 
no merit to becoming the reckless dupe of men or 
chance. The highest philosophy is at the same 
time the most simple and practicable. There is no 
error more common than one, which is taken for 
profound wisdom. Most men look too deep for 
the springs of events, and the motives of action. 
When we are menaced by an evident peril, let us 
summon ail our energy, and courageously struggle 
to ward it off. If, after all, neither wisdom can 
evade it, nor bravery vanquish it, let us see how 
true wisdom can enable us to sustain it. 

How many are ignorant of the value of resigna- 
tion, or confound it with weakness ! The courage 
of resignation is, perhaps, the most high and rare 



OF MISFORTUNE. 79 

of all the forms of that virtue. Man received the 
gift directly from the Author of his being. His 
desires, inquietudes, misguided opinions, the fruits 
of an ambitious and incongruous education, have 
weakened its force in the soul. Who can read the 
anecdote of the American wilderness without thril- 
ling emotion ? An Indian, descending the Niagara 
river, was drawn into the rapids above the sublime 
cataract. The nursling of the desert rowed with 
incredible vigour at first, in an intense struggle for 
life. Seeing his efforts useless, he dropped his 
oars, sung his death song, and floated in calmness 
down the abyss. His example is worthy of imita- 
tion. While there is hope, let us nerve all our 
force, to avail ourselves of all the chances it 
suggests. When hope ceases, and the peril must 
be braved, wisdom counsels calm resignation. 

With regard to unconquerable evils, the true 
doctrine is not vain resistance, but profound sub- 
mission ; it conceals the outline of what we have 
to suffer, as with a veil ; it hastens to bring us the 
fruit of consoling time ; it opens our eyes to a 
clearer view of the possessions which remain to 
us ; it precedes hope, as twilight ushers in the day. 
It is by laying down certain well ascertained prin- 
ciples of conduct, and re-examining them every 
day, that a new empire is given to reason, and 
that we learn to select the most eligible point in all 
situations in life. 



80 OF MISFORTUNE. 

Among the moderns, in pursuit of happiness, 
some study only to multiply their physical enjoy- 
ments ; and, limited to gross sensations, differ 
little from brutes, except in discoursing about what 
they eat. Others, higher in the scale of thought, 
cultivate the pleasures of literature and the fine 
arts. But subjecting only a single class of their 
powers to discipline with a view to distinguish 
themselves from the vulgar, they are not always 
more happy. True philosophy is chiefly conversant 
about that kind of acquisition, which pre-eminently 
constitutes the rational man, forms his reason, and 
places him, as a kind of sage monarch, in the 
midst of an unreflecting world surrounded by chil- 
dren full of ignorance and fatuity. 



CHAPTER VII. 



OF INDEPENDENCE. 

We distinguish many kinds of liberty. That which 
we owe to equal laws, without being indispensable 
to a philosopher, renders the attainment of happi- 
ness more easy to him. However men differ in 
their political opinions, they all have an instinctive 
desire to be free. Every one is reluctant and 
afraid to submit himself to the capricious power of 
those about him. The thirst of power is only 
another form of this ardour for independence. 

With what interest we read in history of those 
ignorant tribes, unknown to fame, whose liberty 
and simple manners at once astonish and delight 
us ! When visiting the isles of Greece, where the 
charm of memory rendered the view of their actual 
slavery more revolting, what delight our travellers 
have experienced in traversing the little isle of 



82 OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Casos, because it had never submitted to the 
Ottoman yoke ! They there found the usages of the 
ancient Greeks, their costume, their beauty and 
their amiable and elevated natural manner. This 
isle is but a rock. But its dangerous shores have 
defended it against tyranny. Associations with 
the songs of Homer and Hesiod are renewed. 
Such a picture delights even a people whose man- 
ners are refined to a degree tending to depravation. 
Thus it is, that those opulent citizens who find 
the country a place of exile, still decorate their 
splended halls with landscapes and flowers. 

Let not a sensitive and wandering imagination 
kindle too readily at the recitals of travellers. 
Were we to transport ourselves to one of those 
remote points of the earth where felicity is re- 
presented to have chosen her asylum, new usages, 
manners and pleasures, and a foreign people, every 
moment reminding us that we are strangers, would 
perhaps, give birth to the most painful regrets. 
When in our youth we were charmed as we read 
of the prodigies of Athens and Rome, we uttered 
the wish that we had been born in those renowned 
republics. There is little doubt that, had our wish 
been realized, we should have been glad to escape 
their storms, in exchange for greater obscurity, 
and more tranquil days . 

It is a distinguished folly which impels men 



OF INDEPENDENCE. 83 

far from their country in search of happiness. 
The greater portion, deceived in their hopes after 
having wandered amidst danger, die with regret 
and sorrow, worn out with vexation resulting 
from the hroken ties and remembrances of home. 
Home is the last thought that comes over the 
departing mind. Our country is our common 
mother. We ought to love and sustain her more 
firmly in her adversity than in her prosperity. 

Whatever manners, opinions and talents we 
carry into another country, we are still strangers 
there. The manners which we adopt are new 
and irksome. The eye sees nothing to awaken 
dear and embellished remembrances ; and we find 
in the heart of no one the reverberating chord 
of ancient friendship and sympathy. We always 
regret the places where we knew the first pleasures 
and the first pains, and saw the first enchanting 
visions of life ; the cherished spots where we 
learned to love and be loved. If, returning 
there, drawn back by an invincible sentiment, 
after a long absence we see it again, what sorrows 
await us ! We find ourselves strangers in our 
own country. We ask for our parents and friends 
who departed in succession. The blows were 
struck at long intervals. ■ We receive them all in 
a moment. We return to shed tears only on the 
tombs of our fathers ! 



84 OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Retreat and competence everywhere supply a 
wise man a degree of independence. Even when 
the sport of oppression and injustice, he yields to 
these evils as the allotments of Providence. He 
would be free in the midst of Constantinople under 
the government of the Sultan. 

Another kind of liberty is the portion of but a 
few in our own country, — the liberty of disposing 
of the whole of our leisure time. To those who 
understand not the value of time, this liberty 
bequeaths a heavy bondage. But to those who 
have learned the secret of happiness it is of in- 
estimable value. The privilege of the favoured 
possessor of opulence is a high one. Neither the 
slave of business, fashion, opinion or routine, it is 
in his power at awaking to say, "This day is all 
my own." 

But moralists exclaim, " You must pay your 
debt ; you must render yourselves useful to 
society." Let me not be understood to inculcate 
the doctrine of indolence. Industry will have 
wings and power when you unite it to freedom. 
But how many repeat the hackneyed cry of " the 
debt to society," who, in the choice of their pro- 
fession, had never a thought but of its honours and 
emoluments ! This man whose industry in the 
pursuit of his choice proves that his toil is his 
pleasure ; that man who is in earnest to serve 



OF INDEPENDENCE. 85 

every one whom he can oblige, and who might 
have shone, had he chosen it, in the career of am- 
bition, but who, modest, studious, and free, lives 
happily in the bosom of retreat, has this man done 
nothing to acquit his debt ? Is his example useless 
to society ? 

If my condition deny me leisure and indepen- 
dence in regard to the disposal of my time, without 
bestowing much concern upon the choice of my 
profession, I should choose that most favourable to 
free thoughts, to breathing the open air, and, as 
much as might be, in view of beautiful scenery. I 
should consider it as a most important element in 
my happiness that I should be chiefly conversant 
with amiable and upright persons. I would also 
avoid some pursuits which are highly esteemed. 
The profession of an advocate, having so much to 
do with the follies, vices, and crimes of society, is 
one of the most trying, both to integrity and phi- 
losophy; but that of the physician, though con- 
tinually witnessing groans, tears and physical 
suffering, may become the source of high-reflected 
pleasure to a generous and humane heart. I would 
avoid any function the disquieting responsibility of 
which would disturb my repose. Above all, I 
should dread one of high honour and emolument, 
connected with proportionate uncertainty of tenure. 

The balance of enjoyment being taken into view, 
I should prefer an occupation of privacy. This it 



86 OF INDEPENDENCE. 

would be more easy at once to obtain and preserve. 
It would expose me less to envy and competition. 
Exempt from the inquietudes inspired by severe 
labours, and the ennui of important etiquette, I 
should at least find an absolute independence, 
every evening, at the relinquishment of my daily 
routine of occupation, and I should suffer no care 
for the morrow; I would learn to enhance the 
charms of my condition by thinking of the agita- 
tion, regrets and alarms of those who are> still 
swept by the whirlwinds of life. In this way I 
would imitate him, who, to procure a more delicious 
repose, placed his couch under a tent near the sea, 
to be lulled by the dashing of its waves and the 
noise of its storms. But it is time to contemplate 
the most useful kind of liberty, the only indispen- 
sable kind, and happily one which is accessible to 
all. It is the liberty resulting from self-command 
and inward mastery of ourselves. It has such a 
value as to cause all others to be forgotten, and 
which no other kind can replace. 

What liberty can that man enjoy who is the 
slave of ambition ? A gesture, a look of the eye, 
a smile anrightens him, and causes him painful and 
trembling calculations what that sinister sign of 
his master may presage. 

Look at the opulent merchant whose hopes are 
the sport of the winds ; seas, robbers, changes of 
trade, municipal regulations, and a crowd of agents 



OF INDEPENDENCE. 87 

who seem subordinate, but who really command 
him. 

Whatever kind of liberty we aim to possess, we 
mav certainly conclude, that the surest means to 
enjoy it is to have few wants. But how restrain 
our wants ? The greater portion are happily 
placed by their condition where they are ignorant 
of the objects which most powerfully excite and 
seduce desire. The golden mean secludes them 
from snares productive full of the bitterest regret, 
and exacts of them little effort of wisdom. 

The more austere philosophers have altogether 
disdained those pleasures which they could never 
hope to obtain. Reducing themselves to the limits 
of the strictest necessity, they indemnify themselves 
for some privations by the certainty of being se- 
cured from many pains, and by the sentiment of 
conscious independence. This is, doubtless, one of 
the surest means of obtaining independence ; and 
they who attempt to employ any other, differ from 
the vulgar by their principles rather than their 
conduct. 

How many objects, of which the contemplation 
awakens the desires, would have nothing dangerous 
if we could always exercise a stern self-controul 
over our minds ! The surest means of exercising 
this self-controul is to reduce the number of our 
wants. To do it, I admit, demands a rare elevation 



88 OF INDEPENDENCE. 

of mind and the exercise of a high degree of philo- 
sophy. But since its value is "beyond its cost, let 
us dare to acquire it. 

While the fleeting dreams of pleasure hover 
around us, let reason still say to us, an instant may 
dissipate them. Let us, then, be ready to find a 
new pleasure in the consciousness of our firmness 
and our masculine and vigorous independence. An 
enlightened mind reigns over pleasures ; and while 
they glitter around, enjoys all that are innocent ; 
but disdains a sigh or a regret when they have 
taken wings and disappeared. 

I commend, in some respects, the example of 
Alcibiades, the disciple of the graces and of wis- 
dom, who astonished in turn the proud Persian by 
his dignity, and the Lacedemonian by his austerity. 
His enemies may charge him with incessant change 
of principle. To me he seems always the same, 
always superior to the men and circumstances that 
surround him. Such strong mental stamina resem- 
ble those robust plants that sustain, without an- 
noyance, the extreme of heat and cold. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



OF HEALTH. 

Health is usually the result of moderation, cheer- 
fulness, and the absence of care. Divine wis- 
dom has ordained, that the inordinate passions 
which disturb our days, are those which have a 
natural tendency to shorten them. 

If there were ground for a single charge against 
the justice of nature, it would be, that the errors of 
inexperience seem punished with too great severity. 
We prodigally waste the material of life and enjoy- 
ment, as we do our other possessions, as if we 
thought it inexhaustible. 

To the errors of youth succeed the vices of 
mature age. Ambition and covetousness, envy 
and hatred, concur to devour the very aliment 
of life. The storms which prostrate the moral 
faculties, equally sap the physical energy. Every 



90 OF HEALTH. 

depraved passion is a consuming poison. To what 
other source of evil can we assign those inquietudes 
and puerile anxieties, which disturb the days of the 
greater portion of mankind, than that they are 
occupied by trifling interests, and agitated by vain 
debates ? or, that they are the slaves of some vice ? 
Cheerful emotions sustain life, and produce the 
effect of a gentle current of air upon flame. Trains 
of thought habitually elevated, and sometimes in- 
clined to reverie, impart a high enjoyment to the 
spirit ; and to be able to command this, is one of 
the rarest felicities of endowment. A distinguished 
physician recorded in his diary the apparent para- 
dox, that three parts of society die of vexation or 
grief. 

I suspect, that not one in a thousand is aware 
how much temperance and moderation in the use 
of food conduce to health. There are very few 
among us who do not daily consume twice the 
amount of food necessary to satisfy the requisitions 
of nature. The redundant portion must weigh as 
a morbid and unconcocted mass upon the wheels of 
life. Every form of ardent spirits, is unquestion- 
ably a poison, slow or rapid, in proportion to the 
excess in which it is used. Disguise it as we may, 
be the pretexts of indulgence as ingenious as plaus- 
ible, as inclination and appetite can frame, it retains 
its intrinsic tendencies under every concealment. 



OF HEALTH. 91 

Wine, in moderation, is doubtless, less deleterious 
than any of its substitutes. In declining age, and 
in innumerable cases of debility, it may be indicated 
as a useful remedy ; but even here, only as a less 
evil to countervail a greater. Pure water, all other 
circumstances equal, is always a healthier beverage 
for common use. 

Next to temperance, a quiet conscience, a cheer- 
ful mind, and active habits, I place early rising as 
a means of health and happiness. I have hardly 
words for the estimate which I form of that slug- 
gard, male or female, that has formed the habit of 
wasting the early prime of day in bed. Laying 
out of the question the positive loss of life, the 
{magna pars dempta solido de die), great portion 
of the entire day, and that too of the most inspiring 
and beautiful part, when all the voices of nature 
invoke man from his bed ; leaving out of the cal- 
culation, that longevity has been almost invariably 
attended by early rising ; to me, late hours in bed 
present an index to character, and an omen of the 
ultimate hopes of the person who indulges in this 
habit. There is no mark so clear, of a tendency 
to self-indulgence. It denotes an inert and feeble 
mind, infirm of purpose, and incapable of that 
elastic vigour of will which enables the possessor 
always to accomplish what his reason ordains. 
The subject of this unfortunate habit cannot but 



92 OF HEALTH. 

have felt self-reproach, and a purpose to spring 
from his repose with the freshness of the dawn. 
If the mere indolent luxury of another hour of lan- 
guid indulgence is allowed to carry it over this 
better purpose, it argues a general weakness of 
character, which promises no high attainment or 
distinction. These are never awarded by fortune 
to any trait, but vigour, promptness and decision. 
Viewing the habit of late rising, in many of its 
aspects, it would seem as if no being, that has any 
claim to rationality, could be found in the allowed 
habit of sacrificing a tenth, and that the most plea- 
sant and spirit-stirring portion of life, at the ex- 
pense of health, and the curtailing of the remain- 
der, for any pleasure which this indulgence could 
confer. 

Huffland has published a work, upon the art of 
prolonging life, full of interesting observations. 
" Philosophers/' says he, " enjoy a delightful lei- 
sure. Their thoughts, generally estranged from 
vulgar interests, have nothing in common with 
those afflicting ideas with which other men are 
continually agitated and corroded. Their reflec- 
tions are agreeable by their variety, their liberty, 
and sometimes even by their frivolity. Devoted to 
the pursuits of their choice, the occupations of their 
taste, they dispose freely of their time. Oftentimes 
they surround themselves with young people, that 
their natural vivacity may be communicated to 



OF HEALTH. 93 

them, and in some sort, produce a renewal of their 
youth. " We may make a distinction between the 
different kinds of philosophy, in relation to their 
influence upon the duration of life. Those which 
direct the mind towards sublime contemplations, 
even were they in some degree superstitious, such 
as those of Pythagoras and Plato, are the most 
salutary. Next to them, I place those, the study 
of which, embracing nature, gives enlarged and 
elevated ideas upon infinity, the stars, the wonders 
of the universe, the heroic virtues, and the pure 
and elevated doctrines of divine revelation. 

" But those systems/' says the writer just quoted, 
" which turn only upon painful subtilties, which 
are dogmatic and positive, which bend all facts 
and opinions to form and adjust them to certain 
preconceived principles ; in fine, such as are thorny, 
barren, narrow, and contentious, these are fatal in 
tendency, and cannot but abridge the life of those 
who cultivate them. Of this class was the philo- 
sophy of the Peripatetics, and that also of the 
Scholastics." 

Tumultuous passions, and corroding cares, are two 
sources of evil influences, which a true philosophy 
avoids. Another influence, adverse to life, is that 
mental feebleness, which renders persons perpetu- 
ally solicitous about their health, effeminate and 
unhappy. Fixing their thoughts intensely on the 



94 OF HEALTH. 

functions of life, those functions, that are subjects 
of this anxious inspection, become wearied. Ima- 
gining themselves diseased, they soon become so. 
The un doubting confidence that we shall enjoy 
health, is perhaps one of the best means of pre- 
serving it. 

I am ignorant of the exact influence of moral 
upon physical action, in relation to health. But 
of this I am confident, that it is prodigious ; that 
physicians have not made it a sufficient element in 
their calculations, or employed it as they should ; 
and that in future, under a wise and more philoso- 
phic direction, it may produce an immense result, 
both in restoring and preserving health. 

A man reads a letter, which announces misfor- 
tunes, or untoward events. His head becomes 
disordered ; his appetite ceases ; he becomes faint 
and oppressed ; and his life is in danger. No 
contagion, however, no physical blow has touched 
him. A thought has palsied his forces in a mo- 
ment ; and has successively deranged every spring 
of life. We have read of persons of feeble and 
iminformed mind, who have fallen ill, in conse- 
quence of the cruel sport of those who have ingeni- 
ously alarmed their imagination, and cautiously 
indicated to them a train of fatal symptoms. Since 
imagination can thus certainly overturn our physi- 
cal powers, why may it not under certain regu- 



OF HEALTH. 95 

lations, restore them ? Among the numberless 
recorded cases of cures, reputed miraculous, it is 
probable, that a great part may be accounted for 
on this principle. 

Suppose a paralytic disciple of the school of 
miracles, whose head is exalted with ideas of the 
mystic power of certain holy men, and who is me- 
ditating on the succour which he expects from a 
divine interposition manifested in his favour. In 
an exstacy of faith, he sees a minister of heaven 
descend enveloped in light, who bids him arise and 
walk. In a moment the unknown nervous energy, 
excited by the mysterious power of faith, touches 
the countless inert and relaxed movements. The 
man arises and walks. Perhaps some of the mira- 
cles of Prince Hohenloe may be accounted for on 
the same principle. During the siege of Lyons, 
when bombs fell on the hospital, the terrified 
paralytics arose and fled. 

I am not disposed to question all the cures which 
in France have been attributed to magnetism. We 
know what a salutary effect the sight of his physi- 
cian produces on the patient, who has confidence 
in him. His cheerful and encouraging conversa- 
tions are among the most efficient remedies. If 
we entertained a long- cherished and intimate per- 
suasion, that by certain signs or touches he could 
dispel our complaints, his gestures would have a 



96 OF HEALTH. 

high moral and physical influence. Magnetism 
was in this sense, as Bailly justly remarked, a true 
experiment upon the power of the imagination. 
At the moment of its greatest sway, while some 
regarded it an infallible specific, and others deemed 
it entirely inefficient, another class held it in high 
estimation. I cite an extract from the report of 
the Academy of Science. 

" We have sought," say they, " to recognize 
the presence of the magnetic fluid. But it escaped 
our senses. It was said, that its action upon ani- 
mated bodies was the sole proof of its existence. 
The experiments which we made upon ourselves, 
convinced us that, as soon as we diverted our atten- 
tion, it was powerless. Trials made upon the sick 
taught us, that infancy, which is unsusceptible of 
prejudice experienced nothing from it ; that mental 
alienation resisted the action of magnetism, even 
in an habitual condition of excitability of the nerves, 
where the action ought to have been most sensible. 
The effects which are attributed to this fluid are 
not visible, except when the imagination is fore- 
warned, and capable of being struck. Imagination, 
then, seems to be the principle of the action. 

" It remained to be seen whether we could re- 
produce these effects by the influence of imagination 
alone. We attempted it, and fully succeeded. 
Without touching the subjects who believed them- 



OF HEALTH. 97 

selves magnetized and without employing any sign, 
they complained of pain and a great sensation of 
heat. We have seen an exalted imagination he- 
come sufficiently energetic to take away the power 
of speech in a moment. At the same time, we 
proved the nullity of magnetism, put in opposition 
with the imagination. Magnetism alone, employed 
for thirty minutes, produced no effect. 

" What we have learned, or, at least, what has 
been confirmed to us in a demonstrative and evi- 
dent manner, by examination of the processes of 
magnetism is, that man can act upon man at every 
moment, by striking his imagination ; and that 
signs and gestures the most simple may have 
effects the most powerful.' ' 

These truths had never before acquired so much 
evidence. We know that cures may be wrought 
by the single influence of imagination. Ambrose 
Pare, Boerhaave, and many other physicians, have 
cited stiking proofs of this fact. The first of these 
writers procured abundant perspiration from a 
patient, by making him believe that a perfectly 
inert substance given to him, was a violent sudo- 
rific. 

It is worthy of the attention of moralists and 
physiologists, as well as physicians, to examine to 
what point we may obtain salutary effects, by ex- 
citing the imagination. But perhaps there would 
soon be cause to dread the perilous influence of this 



98 OF HEALTH. 

art, which can kill as well as make alive. This 
excitable and vivid faculty is never more easily put 
in operation, than when acted upon by the presen- 
timents of superstition. 

We possess another means of operation, which 
may be exercised without danger, and the power 
of which is, also capable of producing prodigies. 
Education rendering most men feeble and timid, 
they are ignorant how much an energetic will can 
accomplish. It is able to shield us from many 
maladies ; and to hasten the cure of those under 
which we labour. 

In mortal epidemics, the physicians, who are 
alarmed at their danger, are ordinarily the first 
victims. Fear plunges the system into that state 
of debility, which predisposes it to fatal impres- 
sions, while the moral force of confidence, commu- 
nicating its aid to physical energy, enables it to 
repel contagion. 

I could cite many distinguished names of men, 
who attributed their cure, in desperate maladies, to 
the courage which never forsook them, and to the 
efforts which they made to keep alive the vital 
spark, when ready to become extinct. One of 
them pleasantly said, " I should have died like the 
rest, had I wished it." 

Pecklin, Barthes, and others, think, that extreme 
desire to see a beloved person once more, has 
sometimes a power to retard death. It is a de- 



OF HEALTH. 99 

lightful idea. I feel with what intense ardour one 
might desire to live another day, another hour, to 
see a friend or a child for the last time. The flame 
of love, replacing that of life, blazes up for a 
moment before both are quenched in the final 
darkness. The last prayer is granted ; and life 
terminates in tasting that pleasure for which it was 
prolonged. If this be true, the principle on which 
some of the most touching incidents of romance are 
founded, is not a fiction. 

I have no need to say, that an energetic will to 
recover from sickness has no point of analogy with 
that fearful solicitude which the greater part of the 
sick experience. The latter, produced by mental 
feebleness, increases the inquietude and aggravates 
the danger. Even indifference would be preferable. 
If education had imparted to us the advantages of 
an energetic w T ill and real force of mind, if from 
infancy we had been convinced of the efficacy of 
this moral power, we have reason to believe, that 
in many cases it would have been, in union with 
the desire of life, an element in the means of heal- 
ing our maladies. 

Medicine is still a science so conjectural that the 
most salutary method of cure, in my view, is that 
which strives not to contradict nature, but to 
second her efforts by moral means. I am ready to 
believe that amidst the real or imagined triumphs 



100 OP HEALTH. 

of science, those of medicine will, in centuries to 
come, hold a rank to which its past achievements 
will have borne no proportion. But what an 
immense amount of experiment will be necessary! 
How many unfortunate beings must contribute to 
the expense of these experiments ! 

Contrary to the general opinion, I highly es- 
teem physicians, and think but very little of 
medicine. In the profession of medicine we find 
the greatest number of men of solid minds and 
various erudition ; and the best friends of hu- 
manity. But they are in the habit of vaunting the 
progress of their science. To me it seems inces- 
santly changing its principles, without ever varying 
its results. The systems of various great men 
have been successively received and rejected. Do 
we however, imagine that the great physicians who 
have preceded us were more unfortunate in their 
practice than those of our days ? Among the most 
eminent physicians of our cities, one practises by 
administering strong cathartics. Another is reso- 
lute for copious bleeding. A third bids us watch 
and wait the indications of nature. Each of these 
assumes that the system of the rest is fatal. At 
the end of the year, however, I doubt if any one of 
them has more reproaches to make, as it regards 
want of success, than any other. 

From these facts, there are those who hold that 



OF HEALTH. 101 

it is most prudent to confide to nature, as the 
physician ; forgetful that, if he could bring no 
other remedy than hope, he unites moral to physical 
aid. Yet, the very persons who, in health are rea- 
diest to maintain this doctrine, like children who 
are heroes during the day, but cowards in the dark, 
when they are sick, are as prompt as others in 
sending for the physician. 

Even if agitation and fear had not fatal effects, 
in rendering us more accessible to maladies, wisdom 
would strive to banish them, in pursuit of the 
science of happiness. Fear, by anticipating agony, 
doubles our suffering. If there could exist a ra- 
tional ground for continual inquietude, it would be 
found in a frail constitution. But how many men 
of the feeblest health survive those of the most 
vigorous and robust frame! Calculations upon the 
duration of life are so uncertain that we can always 
make them in our favour. 

To him who cultivates a mild, pleasant and 
christian philosophy, old age itself should not be 
contemplated with alarm. It may seem a paradox 
to say that all men are nearly of the same age, in 
reference to their chances of another day. Men 
are as confident of seeing to-morrow and the suc- 
ceeding day, at eighty, as at sixteen. Such is the 
beautiful veil with which nature conceals from us 
the darkness of the future. 



102 OP HEALTH. 

In general, men have less sympathy for the suf- 
fering than their condition ought to inspire, We 
meet them with a sad face and are more earnest to 
show them that we are afflicted ourselves, than to 
seek to cheer their dejection. We multiply so 
many questions touching their health that it would 
seem as if we feared to allow them to forget that 
they were unwell. 

Of all subjects of conversation, my own pains 
and physical infirmities have become the least 
interesting to me ; as I know they must be to 
others. I do not wish that those who surround 
my sick bed should converse as though arranging 
the preparations for my last dress, or determining 
the hour of my interment. 

If we would live in peace, and die in tranquillity, 
let us, as much as possible, avoid importunate 
cares. Our business is to unite as many friends as 
we may ; and to beguile pain and sorrow by trea- 
suring as many resources of innocent amusement 
as our means will admit. If our sufferings become 
painful and incurable, we must concentrate our 
mental energy and settle on our solitary powers of 
endurance. We die, or we recover. Nature, 
though calm, moves irresistibly to her point ; and 
complaint is always worse than useless. 

But in arming ourselves with courage to support 
our own evils, let us preserve sensibility and sym- 



OF HEALTH. 103 

pathy for the sufferings of others. It is among 
the dangerously afflicted that we find those unfor- 
tunate beings who are most worthy to inspire our 
pity. Their only expectation is death, preceded by 
cruel pains ; and yet they, probably, suffer less for 
themselves than for weeping dependents whom 
they are leaving, it may be, without a single prop. 
During the few days of sorrow that remain to them 
on earth, how earnestly ought we to strive to miti- 
gate their pains, to calm their alarms and animate 
their feeble hopes ! Blessed be that beneficent 
being who shall call one smile more upon their 
dying lips ! 

Let us thank God for religion. Philosophy may 
inculcate stern endurance and wise submission ; but 
knows not a fit and adequate remedy. The hopes 
and the example imparted by him who went about 
doing good, are alone sufficient for the relief of 
such cases, of which, alas ! our world is full. 



CHAPTER IX, 



OF COMPETENCE. 



Some philosophers announce to us, with sententious 
gravity, that virtue ought to be the single object of 
our desires ; and that, strengthened by it, we can 
support privations and misery without suffering. 
Useless moralists ! Shall I yield faith to precepts 
which the experience of every day falsifies ? It is 
only necessary, in refutation, to present a man who 
has broken his limb, or whose children suffer 
hunger. 

His plan is wise, who examines, with a judgment 
free from ambition, the amount of fortune necessary 
to competence in his case, viewed in all its bear- 
ings; and commences the steady pursuit of it. 
Having reached that measure, if his desires impel 
him beyond the limit which, in a more reasonable 
hour, he prescribed for himself, he henceforward 



OF COMPETENCE. 105 

strives to be happy by sacrificing enjoyment. He 
barters it for a very uncertain means of purchasing 
even pleasures. In this way competence becomes 
useless to the greater part of those who obtain it. 
Victims of the common folly, and still wishing a 
little more, they lose in the effort to get rich, the 
time which they ought to spend in enjoyment. We 
see grasping and adroit speculators on every side ; 
and, but rarely, men who know how to employ the 
resources of a moderate fortune. It is not the art 
of acquiring beyond competence, but of wisely 
spending, that we need to leam. 

Our business in life is to be happy ; and yet, 
simple and obvious as this truism is, the greater 
number disdain or forget it. To judge from the 
passions and objects that we see exciting man to 
action, we should suppose that he was placed on 
the earth, not to become happy, but rich. 

To what purpose so many cares and studies ? 
That man, we are answered with a peculiar empha- 
sis, has an immense income. In his rare, brilliant 
and envied condition, if he does not vegetate under 
the weight of ennui, I recognise in him a man of 
astonishing merit. 

The opulent may be divided into two classes. 
The employment of the one is to watch over their 
expenditures. The other study the mode of dissi- 
pating their revenue. Can I present, in detail, the 



106 OF COMPETENCE. 

cares and vexations which an immense fortune 
brings ? The possessor leaves discussion with his 
tenants, to commence angry disputes with his work- 
men. From these he departs to listen to the 
schemes of projectors, or to the information of 
advocates. Is not such a result dearly purchased 
at the expense of repose, independence and time ? 
Would it not be better to relinquish a part of these 
possessions, in order to dispose, in peace, of the 
remainder ? I admit, that a man who devotes him- 
self to lucrative pursuits is not overwhelmed with 
continual listlessness. The banker respires again, 
after having grown pale over his accounts. A 
speculation has succeeded, and the enchantment of 
success banishes his alarms, fatigues, and slavery. 
But he whose purpose in life is to secure as many 
happy moments as he can, and who sees how many 
innocent pleasures the other allows to escape him, 
would refuse his fortune at the price which he pays 
for it. 

Another opulent class inherit fortunes acquired 
by the industry and sacrifices of their fathers. 
Rendered effeminate in a school, the reverse of that 
in which their fathers were trained, without re- 
sources in themselves, accustomed from infancy to 
have their least desires anticipated, under the influ- 
ence of feeble parents, pliant and servile instruc- 
tors, greedy servants, and a seducing world, their 



OF COMPETENCE. 107 

appetite is early palled, and every pleasure in life 
worn out. 

But suppose the rich heir brought up as though 
he were not rich, destiny places before him a 
strange alternative. If he succeed in resisting 
desires which every thing excites and favours, 
what painful struggles ! If he yield to them, what 
effort can preserve him an untainted mind ? The 
experience of all time declares the improbability 
that he will resist. So many pretended friends are 
at hand to take up the cause of the present against 
the future, a cause, too, which always finds a pow- 
erful patron in our own bosoms ! The pleasures of 
the senses have, besides, this dangerous advantage, 
that before we have tasted them we are sufficiently 
instructed by the imagination, that we shall receive 
vivid and delightful emotions from their indulgence. 
We are not certain that pleasures of a higher class 
have a charm of enchantment until after we have 
made the happy experiment. Thus every thing pre- 
pares the opulent for the sadness of satiety, moral 
disgust and ennui without end, the only suffering 
of life which is not softened by hope. 

You will sometimes see these men at public 
places, where they are professedly in search of 
amusement, giving no sign of existence except by 
an occasional yawn. Cast your eyes on those 
spectators who are alive to the most vivid enthu- 



108 OF COMPETENCE. 

siasm. They are young students, or mechanics, 
who have economised ten days to spend an hour of 
the eleventh in this amusement ! It is in clean 
cottages, in small but well-directed establishments, 
that pleasures are vivid, because they are gained at 
a small price, and through industry and order. A 
festival is projected, or a holiday returns. Friends 
are assembled, and how blithe and free is the joy ! 
A slight economy has been practised to supply the 
moderate expenses. There is high pleasure in 
looking forward to the epoch and in making the 
arrangements in anticipation. There is still more 
pleasure in the remembrance. When the interval 
which separates us from pleasure is not very long, 
even this interval has charms. 

No human calculation will ever reach the sum of 
agony that has been inflicted by the jealousy and 
envy that have resulted from that most erroneous 
persuasion, that certain conditions and circumstan- 
ces of life bring happiness in themselves. Beauti- 
fully has the bible said, that " God hath set one 
thing over against another ;" has balanced the real 
advantages of the different human conditions. The 
result of my experience would leave me in doubt 
and at a loss, in selecting the condition which I 
should deem most congenial to happiness. I should 
have to balance abundance of food, on the one 
hand, against abundance of appetite, on the other ; 



OF COMPETENCE. 109 

the habit superinduced by the necessity of being 
satisfied with a little, with the habit of being dis- 
gusted with the trial of much. There are joys, 
numerous and vivid, peculiar to the rich ; and 
others, in which none but those in the humbler 
conditions of life can participate. In the whole 
range of the enjoyment of the senses, if there be 
any advantage, it belongs to the poor. The laws 
of our being have surrounded the utmost extent of 
human enjoyment with adamantine walls, which 
one condition can no more overleap than another. 
It is wonderful to see this admirable adjustment, 
like the universal laws of nature, acting everywhere 
and upon everything. Even in the physical world, 
what is granted to one country is denied to an- 
other ; and the wanderer who has seen strange 
lands and many cities, in different climes, only 
returns to announce, as the sum of his experience 
and the teaching of years, that light and shadow, 
comfort and discomfort, pleasure and pain, like 
air and water, are diffused in nearly similar mea- 
sures over the whole earth. 

What a touching narrative is recorded of the 
suppers of two of the greatest men of the past age, 
of whom one was the Abbe de Condillac. Both 
were so poor that the expenses were reduced to 
absolute necessaries. But what conversations pro- 
longed the repast, and with what swiftness flew 



110 OP COMPETENCE. 

the enchanted hours ! Neither great genius nor 
profound acquirements are necessary to enjoy even- 
ings equally pleasant. 

Those who compose an establishment of moderate 
competence, rarely leave it. All the joys which 
spring up in the bosom of a beloved family seem 
to have been created for them. Give them riches* 
without changing their hearts, and they would 
taste less pleasure. New duties and amusements 
would trench upon a part of that time which had 
hitherto been sacred to friendship. More conver- 
sant with society, they would be less together. 
Receiving more visitants, they would see fewer 
friends. Transported into a new sphere where a 
thousand objects of comparison would excite their 
desires, they would, perhaps, for the first time, 
experience privations and regrets. 

Women and young people taste the advantages 
which a retired, pleasant and modest condition 
offers only so long as they avoid comparisons of 
that lot with one which the world considers more 
favoured. We must carry into the world a high 
philosophy, or never quit our retreat. 

Persons even of a disciplined reason, just thought, 
and a noble character, may grow dizzy, for a mo- 
ment, with the splendour and noise of opulence, 
perceived for the first time. But as soon as they 
begin to blush and forfeit self-respect in tracing the 



OF COMPETENCE. Ill 

causes of their intoxication, the scene vanishes, 
and, ^s they contemplate ^^ compare, : ' is replaced 

timate pride in s ; n - regrets 

and cares am I saved ! How many iutilities are 
here, of which I have no need ! 

But I shall be told, that opulence has at least 
this advantage, that it attracts considers don. Ther 
is no doubt that many people measure the esteem 
they pay you by the scale of your riches. You will 
never persuade them that merit often walks on foot, 
while stupidity rides in a carriage. 

But will a man esteem himself a philosopher, 
and take into his calculation the opinion of such 
fools as these ? In a circle where opulence puts 
forth its splendour, when you experience a slight 
revulsion of shame in perceiving that the simplicity 
of your dress is remarked, ask yourself if you would 
change your mode of life, character and talents 
with those around you ? If you feel that you would 
not, repress the weakness of wishing incompatible 
advantages ; and resume the self-respect of an 
honest man. 

To be satisfied with a moderate fortune is, per- 
haps, the highest test and best proof of philosophy. 
All others seem to me doubtful. He who can live 
content on a little, gives a pledge that he would 



112 OF COMPETENCE. 

preserve his probity and courage in the most diffi- 
cult situations. He has placed his virtue, repose 
and happiness, as far as possible above the caprices 
of his kind, and the vicissitudes of earthly things. 

There are moments when the desire of wealth 
penetrates even the retreat of a sage, not with the 
puerile and dangerous wish to dazzle with show, 
but with the hope, dear to a good mind, that it 
might become a means of extended usefulness. 
When imagination creates her gay visions, we 
sometimes think of riches, and in our dreams make 
an employment of them worthy of envy. What a 
delightful field then opens before those who possess 
riches ! They can encourage the progress of sci- 
ence, and aid in advancing the glory of letters. 
How much assistance they can offer to deserving 
young people, whose first efforts announce happy 
dispositions, and whose character, at the same time, 
little fitted for worldly success, is a compound of 
independence and timidity ! How much they may 
honour themselves in decking the modest retreat of 
the aged scholar, who has consecrated his life to 
study, and who has neglected his personal fortune 
to enrich the age with the inventions of genius ! 
They have the means of giving a noble impulse to 
the arts, without trenching upon their resources. 
A picture, which perpetuates the remembrance of 
a generous or heroic exploit, costs no more than a 



OF COMPETENCE. 113 

group of bacchanalians or debauchees. A career- 
more beautiful still, is open to opulence. Of how 
many vices and how many tears it may dry the 
source ! A rich man, to become happy, has only 
to wish to become so. He can not only immortal- 
ize his name as the patron of arts and useful 
inventions, but, what is better, can deserve the 
blessings of the miserable. Such pleasures are 
durable, and may be tasted with unsated relish, 
after a settled lassitude from the indulgence of all 
others. 

If I have ever allowed myself the indulgence 
of envy, it is after having tasted the pleasure of 
rewarding merit, or relieving distress, in thinking 
how continually such celestial satisfactions are 
within the reach of the opulent. What a calm is 
left in the mind after having wiped away tears ! 
What aspirations are excited in noting the joy and 
gratitude consequent upon misery relieved ! How 
delightful to recur to the remembrance during the 
vigils of the night-watches ! How it expands the 
heart, to reflect upon the consciousness of the all- 
powerful and all-good Being, measuring the circuit 
of the universe in doing good ! Unhappily, the 
experience of all time demonstrates that the pos- 
session of opulence and power not only has no 
direct tendency to inspire increased sensibility to 
such satisfaction, but has an opposite influence. 



114 OF COMPETENCE. 

For one, rendered more kind and benevolent by 
good fortune, how many become callous, selfish, 
and proud by it ! Kindly and wisely has providence 
seen fit to spare most men this dangerous trial. 

Let not such seducing dreams, however, leave us 
a prey to ambitious and disappointed desires at our 
awakening. It is in the sphere where providence 
has placed us, that we must search for the means 
of being useful ; and if there are pleasures which 
belong only to opulence, there are others which 
can be best found in mediocrity. 



CHAPTER X. 



OF OPINION, AND THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 

In selecting the same route, in which the agitated 
crowd is pressing onward, we are evidently on the 
wrong road to happiness ; since we hear the multi- 
tude on every side expressing dissatisfaction with 
their life. If we choose a different path, we cannot 
expect to evade the shafts of censure, since the 
same multitude are naturally disposed, from pride 
of opinion, to think all, not on the same road with 
themselves, astray. It is, then, an egregious folly 
to hope for a happiness thus pursued by system, 
and for the approbation of the vulgar at the same 
time. Among the obstacles which are at war with 
our repose, one of the greatest, and at the same 
time most frivolous, is the fatal necessity of becom- 
ing of importance to others, instead of becoming 



116 OF OPINION, AND 

calmly sufficient to ourselves. Like restless chil- 
dren, always seduced by appearances, it is a small 
point, that we are happy in our condition. We 
desire that it should excite envy. A happiness 
which glares not in the eyes of the multitude, com- 
pelling them to take note of it, is no longer regarded 
as happiness. There are both dupes and victims 
of opinion. Those who are devoured by the fever 
of intrigue, and those who, to dazzle others, dissi- 
pate their fortune, are the miserable victims. The 
dupes are those who voluntarily weary themselves 
out of three-quarters of their life, and offer this as 
their apology, — " These visits, these ceremonies, 
these evening parties ! they are tiresome, we grant. 
But we must mix with good company." Why not 
always mix then, with the best ; your own enlight- 
ened and free thoughts ? 

I shall be obliged to present one truth under a 
thousand forms. It is that much courage is exacted 
for the attainment of happiness. Such a man has 
estimable qualities, an interesting family, tried 
friends, a fortune equal to his wants. His lot 
ought to seem a delightful one. How differently 
the public judge ! " This man," says the public, 
" has intelligence. Why has he not increased his 
fortune ? He is able to distinguish himself. Why 
has he not sought place or office ? He seems to 
stand aloof, that he may pique himself on a proud 



THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 117 

and foolish originality. We judge him less favour- 
ably. Every one distinguishes himself, that can. 
To be without distinction is a proof that he has not 
power to acquire it." If the man, of w T hom this is 
said, has not courage, the public will end, by ren- 
dering him ashamed of his happiness. 

To hear the false reasoning of the multitude is 
not what astonishes me. That stupid people, full 
of self-esteem, should hold these foolish discourses, 
with strong emphasis, is perfectly natural. What 
I wonder at is, that their maxims should guide 
people of understanding. 

We are guilty of the whimsical contradiction of 
judging our own ideas with complacency, and of 
pronouncing upon those of others with severity. 
Yet we every day sacrifice principles w T hich we 
esteem, through fear of being blamed by people 
whom we despise. 

I would by no means desire to see those most 
dear to me arrogantly setting at defiance received 
ideas and usages. These generally have a salutary 
moral sway in repressing the influence of the impu- 
dent and abandoned. I am not insensible to the 
danger of following our independent judgment be- 
yond the limits of a regulated discretion. But 
there is no trait in the young for which I feel a 
more profound respect, than the fixed resolve to 
consult their own light, in settling the rules of their 



118 OF OPINION, AND 

conduct, and selecting their alternatives. A calm 
and reflecting independence, an unshaken firmness 
in encountering vulgar prejudices, is what I admire 
as the evidence of strong character, fearless think- 
ing, and capability of self- direction. 

How often must every reflecting mind have been 
led to similar views of human nature ! To form 
just estimates and entertain right sentiments of our 
kind, we must not contemplate men under the action 
of the narrowness of sectarian hate, or through the 
jaundiced vision of party feeling. We must see 
them, not only amidst the prosperous scenes of life, 
but also, when great and sweeping calamities level 
men to the consciousness and the sympathies of a 
common nature, and a sense of common exposure 
to misery, and open the fountains of generous feel- 
ing. Who has not seen men, on such occasions, 
forget their pride, their miserable questions of rank 
and precedence, and meet with open arms, and the 
mingled tears of gratitude and relief, persons, the 
view of whom under other circumstances, would 
have called forth only feelings of scornful compari- 
son and reckless contempt ! 

The moment I escape the yoke of opinion, what 
a vast and serene horizon stretches out before my 
eyes ! The pleasures of vanity scatter like morning 
mists. Those of repose and independence remain. 
I no longer sacrifice to the disquieting desire of 



THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 119 

preserving a protector, or eclipsing my rivals. I 
am no longer the slave of gloomy etiquette. I 
henceforward prolong my delightful evenings for 
my own enjoyment. The caprices of men have lost 
their empire over me. If poor, I shall remain a 
stranger to the pains excited by blasting ridicule, 
and overwhelming contempt. If rich, indolent and 
impertinent people will no longer regulate my ex- 
penses ; and the happy choice of my pleasures will 
multiply my riches. These are presented to a wise 
man in two opposite relations. Do they call for 
some aid ? The most tender interest excites him 
to attend. Do they show a disposition to manage 
him ? He meets the attempt only with profound 
disdain. He who possesses a disciplined reason, 
and a courageous mind, does not choose to walk by 
the faith of a feeble and uncertain guide, who has 
need himself to be led. Allow yourself to become 
docile to the eccentric laws of opinion, and the slave 
of its imperious caprices, and follow it with the 
most earnest perseverance of loyalty ; still it will 
finally terminate in condemning you. 

But hypocrisy speaks against me, and feeble men 
ask me, if it be not dangerous, thus to inculcate 
contempt of opinion ? In following but a part of 
the ideas, which I announce, my readers might be 
led astray. The whole must be adopted, for a fair 
experiment of the result. A physician had chosen 



120 OP OPINION, AND 

many plants, from which to form a salutary decoc- 
tion. His patient swallowed the juice of but one, 
and was poisoned. 

Let us discard that timidity, which conducts to 
falsehood ; and, to subserve morals, let us be 
faithful to truth. The wicked and the virtuous 
alike break the yoke of opinion ; the former to in- 
crease his power of annoyance ; the latter to do 
good. 

I can conceive, that a depraved man will commit 
fewer faults, in yielding to the caprices of opinion, 
than in abandoning himself to his own errors. 
There are cruel passions and shameful vices, which 
he reproves even in the midst of his aberrations. 
But in doing so he gives to falsehood the name of 
politeness, and to cowardice the title of prudence. 
His movements are regulated by the terror of ridi- 
cule. To form true men, it is indispensable, that 
this precept should be engraven on their hearts,— 
Fear nothing but remorse. 

The simple and generous mind, that follows these 
lessons, and is worthy of happiness, need not blush 
in view of his course. Only let him march on with 
unshrinking courage. In breaking the yoke of 
opinion, let him fly the still more shameful chains 
which the passions impose. In contemning the 
prejudices of the multitude, dread still more those 
fatal instructors, who treat morality as a popular 



THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 121 

fable, and pretend to the honour of dispelling our 
errors. The aberrations of opinion prove only, that 
the most bold, not the most virtuous, press forward 
to announce their principles. These principles 
cannot annihilate that secret and universal opinion, 
that voice of conscience, without which the moral 
world would have presented only a chaos ; and the 
human race would have perished. Consult those 
men, who have been instructed by the lessons of 
wisdom and experience. Consult those whom you 
would choose to resemble. Their first precept will 
be, that you descend into yourself. If we interro- 
gate conscience, in good faith, she will enlighten 
us. She makes herself heard in the tumult of our 
vices, even against our will. If she become 
distorted, during the storm of our passions, she 
recovers the serenity of truth, as soon as that 
passes away ; as a river, which has been agitated 
by a tempest, as soon as a calm returns, reflects 
anew the verdure of the shores and the azure of 
heaven. 

If there were a people formed by wise laws, 
whose words were frank, and whose actions upright, 
there it would be a duty to hearken to the voice of 
opinion in religious silence, and to follow its de- 
crees. Phocion asked, what foolish thing he had 
done when the Athenians applauded him ? Happy 
the country, where this would have been a criminal 



122 OF OPINION, ETC. 

pleasantry, and where the pages of that chapter 
which condemns opinion ought to be torn out. 

Perhaps I may be accused of contradiction, in 
saying that, in the enlightened pursuit of happiness 
the opinion of the multitude must be received with 
neglect ; and yet, that it is pleasant to be esteemed 
by the society, of which we are members. We 
receive their services, and ought to know the plea- 
sure of obliging them. We often share those 
weaknesses, which we censure in them. Our mul- 
tiplied relations with them render their affection 
desirable. It may not be necessary to happiness ; 
but it gives to enjoyment a more vivid charm. 

May we be able, in pursuing the path indicated 
by wisdom, to obtain esteem, and taste the delight 
of a sentiment still pleasanter, and more precious. 
Friendship is, to esteem, what the flower is to the 
stem which sustains it. 

But I can never imagine, that we ought to be- 
come subservient to the caprices of opinion. We 
should first be satisfied with ourselves ; and after- 
wards, if it may be, with others. To merit affection, 
I perceive but two methods ; to love our kind, and 
to cultivate those virtues which diffuse a charm 
over life. 



CHAPTER XL 



OF RESPECT TOWARDS OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 

There is no such being as a misanthrope. The 
men designated by this name, may be divided into 
many classes. In one class I see men of philoso- 
phic minds, revolted by our vices, or shocked by 
our contradictions, who censure these universal 
traits with a blunt frankness. Their disgust 
springs from the evils, which the universal follies 
of the age have shed upon our career. But if they 
really hated men, would they wield the pen of 
satire, in striving to correct them ? 

Another class consists of those unfortunate 
beings, who hope to find peace only in solitude. 
They fly a world which has pierced their heart with 
cruel wounds ; and perhaps avow, in words, an 
implacable hatred towards men. But their sen- 
sibility belies their avowal ; and we soothe their 



124 OF RESPECT TOWARDS 

griefs, as soon as we ask their services. Finally, 
there are those who strive only to render themselves 
singular, who are really less afflicted than whimsical; 
rather officious than observing. These would tire us 
with the avowal of their love of mankind, if they 
did not deem that they render themselves more pi- 
quant and original by declaring that they hate them. 

I do not propose to discuss the question whether 
man is born virtuous ? But as he advances in life, 
nature arranges every thing around him in such a 
manner, as ought to render him so. A mother is 
the first object which is presented to his view. 
The first words which he hears express the tender- 
est affection. Caresses inspire his first sentiments ; 
and his first occupations are sports. 

Too soon, it is true, very different objects sur- 
round him. As he grows into life, he is struck 
with such a general spectacle of injustice, as re- 
verses his ideas, and sours his character. But, 
although the contagion reaches him, and the pas- 
sions and prejudices degrade him, some feelings of 
respect to what is right and good will always 
remain in his heart. 

Even those terrible enthusiasts, who thrust them- 
selves forward in the effervescence of party, who 
kindle the flame of civil discord, and with an un- 
shrinking hand raise the sword of proscription, 
these fanatics may be strangers to every humane 



OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 125 

sentiment. Yet many of them are seen to love 
their wives and children with tenderness, and to 
preserve in the bosom of their family, so to speak, 
the germs of better things ; and even tyrants have 
their days of clemency. 

During great calamities, natural sentiments de- 
velop themselves, and form a touching contrast 
with the scenes of horror with which they are 
surrounded. When a destructive conflagration is 
sweeping along a city, there are no distinctions, no 
animosities among the wretched sufferers, whom 
the same terror pursues. Enemies forget their 
hatred, and partisans their parties. The rich and 
poor cry out together. All love and aid each other. 
Misfortune has broken down the separating barriers 
of pride and prejudice, and they find each other 
disposed, at least for a season, to what they ought. 

Even upon the theatre of war, where the specta- 
cle of destruction excites an appetite to destroy, we 
often discover affecting traces of humanity. At 
the seige of Mentz, in 1795, I remember that the 
advanced guards of the attack on the left, occupied 
an English garden, near the village of Mont- 
back. The garden was completely destroyed. 
The walks and labyrinths were changed, by the 
trampling of the soldiers, into high roads. Bat- 
teries were raised upon the mounds, from distance 
to distance, around which still grew rare trees and 



126 OP RESPECT TOWARDS 

shrubs. The French bivouacs banished the verdure 
of the bowling-greens ; and in advance of them, a 
half- overturned kiosk served for the front guard of 
the Austrians. The nearest water was on their 
side ; the nearest wood on the side of the French. 
To obtain water, the French threw their canteens 
to the Austrians, who filled them and sent them 
back again. When night drew on, the French 
soldiers, in return, cut wood for the Austrians, and 
dragged faggots between the videttes of the two 
armies. Thus, waiting the signal to cut each 
other's throat, the advanced guards lived in peace, 
and made exchanges like those between friendly 
people. This spectacle excited in me a profound 
emotion ; and I was scarcely able to refrain from 
tears, in seeing men so situated, somewhat alive to 
the calls of humanity. 

This incident is a singularly touching one. In 
what a cruel light does it place the character and 
passions of princes, generals, conquerors, and war- 
riors, who for their measureless cupidity, or the 
whim of their ambition, have used their fellow men, 
formed with natural sympathies to aid and love 
each other, as the mechanical engines of their pur- 
poses, to meet breast to breast as enemies, and 
plunge the murderous steel into each other's hearts ! 
Hence, rivers of life-blood have flowed as uselessly 
as rain falls upon the ocean ! It is difficult to 



OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 127 

determine whether we ought most to execrate the 
cursed ambition of the few, or despise the weak 
stupidity of the many who have been led, unresist- 
ingly, like animals to the slaughter, only the more 
firmly to rivet the chains of the survivors. What 
a view does war present, of the miserable ignorance, 
the brute stupidity, of the mass of the species, and 
the detestable passions of those called the great, in 
all time ! Who does not exult to see the era, 
every day approaching, when men will be too wise, 
too vigilant and careful of their rights to become 
instruments in the hands of others ; when the ra- 
tional consciousness of their own predominant 
physical power shall be guided by wisdom, self- 
watchfulness and self-respect ? Then, instead of 
being tamely led out to slay each other, when 
invoked to this detestable sport of kings, they will 
show their steel to their oppressors. 

Under oppression, in degradation, in slavery, 
men still preserve some impress of their first dig- 
nity. Those outrages which inflict personal 
humiliation, are among the most frequent causes 
of revolutions ; and, perhaps, tyrants incur less 
danger in shedding the blood of citizens, than in 
insulting them. An outrage upon a woman was 
the signal of the liberty of Rome. A similar crime 
drew on the fall of the Pisi strati, who had found no 
obstacle in overturning the laws of their country. 



128 OF RESPECT TOWARDS 

The Swiss and Danes supported the rigours of a 
tyrannic yoke in silence. They arose the first day 
in which their oppressors exacted of them an act of 
degradation. Genoa had been conquered. An 
Austrian officer struck a man of the lower class. 
The indignant Genoese flew to arms, and drove 
away their conquerors. 

A convincing demonstration, that an innate prin- 
ciple of elevation exists in the soul, results from 
the universality of religious ideas. Man is discou- 
raged by his errors, his infirmities and faults in 
vain. An interior voice admonishes him of his 
high destination. He raises his voice to him over 
the tombs of his fathers ; and not only so, but very 
frequently, if he thinks as he ought, every day of 
his life. When the contemplation of the works of 
the Eternal has inspired him with humble senti- 
ments of himself, he still deems himself superior to 
all the beings that surround him. Occupying but 
a point on the globe, his disquieting thoughts em- 
brace the universe. He beholds time devouring 
the objects of his affections, crumbling monuments, 
and overturning even the works of nature ; from 
the midst of the ruins he aspires to immortality. 

To me it appears that religion springs not, as 
some suppose, from tradition ; or, as others think, 
from reasoning. It is a sentiment. It is an 
inwrought feeling in our mental constitution, an 



OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 129 

unwritten, universal, and everlasting gospel, point- 
ing to God and immortality. Bring the most 
uninstructed peasant, who has seen nothing of the 
earth, hut its plains, in sight of Chimborazo. The 
thrill of awe and sublimity that springs within him 
at the view, and lifts his spirit above the summits 
to the divinity, is one of the forms, in which this 
sentiment acts. The natural mental movements 
in view of the illimitable main, of the starry firm- 
ament, of elevated mountains, of whatever is vast 
in dimension, irresistible in power, terrible in the 
exercise of anger ; in short, all those emotions, 
which we call the sublime, are modified actings of 
the religious sentiment. 

What would not these sentiments, at once ele- 
vated and good, these precious germs produce, 
were they developed by happy circumstances ! 
That they exist in the human bosom is a sufficient 
indication that we owe a tender interest to the be- 
ing who possesses them. Let us love our kind, 
and cultivate the virtues which render us worthy of 
their affection. 



CHAPTER XIL 



OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES 

Placed in the midst of men, one of the most useful 
virtues is indulgence. To allow ourselves to be- 
come severe, is to forget how many good qualities 
we want ourselves ; and from what faults we are 
preserved only by our circumstances, and the re- 
straining providence of God. It is to forget the 
weakness of men, and the empire exercised over 
them by the objects that surround them. To ren- 
der exact justice to our kind, we ought to take into 
the estimate all the assistance and all the obstacles, 
with which they have met in their career. Thus 
weighing them, celebrated actions will become less 
astonishing, and many faults will appear much 
more venial. 

By cultivating the spirit of indulgence, we learn 
the happy secret of being well with ourselves, and 



OP SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 131 

well with men. Some carry into their intercourse 
with the world an austere frankness. They are 
dreaded, and the opposition which they every day 
experience, increases their disagreeable and tire- 
some rudeness. Others, blushing at no complais- 
ance, and equally supple and false, smile at what 
displeases them ; praise what they feel to be ridicu- 
lous ; and applaud what they know to be vile. Be 
kind, whilst you ever frown on what is vicious, 
and you will not sacrifice self-esteem ; and your 
frankness, far from annoying, will render your 
affability more amiable. 

The less we occupy ourselves with the vices and 
aberrations of men, unless it be to reform them, and 
of course, to make them happier, the more pleasant 
will our existence become. 

Let us extend a courageous indulgence towards 
those unfortunate beings who are victims of long- 
continued errors. Enough will be ready to assume 
the office of their accusers. Let us draw round 
them the veil of charity. I am aware that gloomy 
moralists will object to these views ; and call them 
easy principles, that encourage the vices, flatter the 
passions, and excuse disorders. Believe me, the 
most easy and successful mode of reclaiming the 
wandering, is to carry encouragement and hope to 
their hearts, and to confide in their professions of 
repentance. Few things, in my estimate, more 



132 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 

decidedly mark a generous and noble, as well as an 
enlightened and a philosophic spirit, as the dispo- 
sition to be indulgent in its construction of the 
views and conduct of others, and to view our fellow 
men with kindness and compassion. Great minds 
fail not to be conscious what a weak, miserable 
compound of vanity, ignorance and selfishness is 
that lord of the creation which we call man. As 
the human mind is exalted by its elevation towards 
the divinity, in the same proportion it soars above 
the mists of its own passions and prejudices ; and, 
whilst it must ever censure what is really wrong, 
yet sees much in humanity to inspire feelings of 
compassion and benevolence. 

Born in an age when every one professes to 
applaud toleration, far from adopting the real spirit, 
we scarcely know how to practise indulgence even 
towards abstract opinions, that differ from our own. 
Let us never forget the weakness and error of our 
own judgment and understanding ; and then we 
shall possess an habitual temper of candour towards 
the views of others. In most instances, when we 
say "that man thinks rightly/' the phrase, when 
translated, imports, ■ ' that man thinks as I do." 

A particular idea, which you formerly deemed 
correct, at present seems false. Perhaps you may 
one day return to your first judgment. Let us 
accord, to our antagonist, a right which we fre- 



OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 133 

quently exercise for ourselves, the right to be 
deceived. During the contests of party, I have 
more than once seen the spectacle of two men 
changing their principles almost at the same mo- 
ment, in such a manner, that one of them takes the 
place of the other in the faction, which, but a short 
time since, he professed to detest. Taking human 
nature as it is, into view, this does not astonish me. 
What I find strange is, that these two men should 
hate each other more than ever, and that it has 
become impossible to reconcile them, now that the 
one has espoused the opinion which the other held 
but a moment before. 

It is very true, that the age of actual persecu- 
tion, by fines, imprisonment and death, is gone by. 
But this results rather from a progress of practical 
political ideas, than from a settled conviction that 
no one mind has a right to find, in the opinions of 
another mind, cause of offence. Whoever cannot 
look upon the most opposite faith and opinions 
of his neighbour, in religion, in politics, and the 
ordinary concerns of life, without any feeling of 
temper and bitterness, in view of that difference, 
is in heart and spirit intolerant. In this view, 
who can justly and fully lay claim to toleration ? 
The whole world is divided into parties, often find- 
ing the bitterest germs of contention in the smallest 
differences. Scarcely one in ten thousand, of all 



134 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 

these sects and parties, has real philosophic mag- 
nanimity enough to perceive, that all other men 
have as much claim for indulgence to their opin- 
ions, as he exacts for his own. 

An essential truth that ought to be constantly 
announced, is, that both political and religious 
opinions have much less influence than is com- 
monly imagined upon the qualities of the heart. 
No verity has been so completely demonstrated to 
my conviction. I have been conversant with men 
of all parties. In every one I have met with 
persons full of disinterestedness and integrity. To 
esteem them, it was only necessary to remark the 
noble and unshrinking courage with which they 
were willing to suspend every thing on the issue of 
their convictions. 

A crowd of useful reflections upon this subject 
naturally offer, upon which it would be easy to 
enlarge. The brevity of my plan impels me to 
other subjects. There is one quality, difficult to 
define, yet easily understood, which always affects 
us pleasantly. It is a quality as rare as its effects 
are useful ; and yet we have scarcely a specific 
term in our language by which fully to designate 
it. An obliging disposition is the common phrase 
that conveys it. Examine all the pleasant things 
of life, and you will find this disposition the pleas- 
antest of all. There often remains no memorv of 



OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 135 

the benefits received. Of those we have rendered, 
something is always retained. 

But what shall we say of the ungrateful ? We 
are told that they are formidable from their num- 
bers and boldness, and that they people the whole 
earth. How eccentric and contradictory are the 
common maxims of the world ! We admit that 
we have a right to exact gratitude ! and yet wish 
that benefits should be forgotten : I hold it wrong 
to depend upon gratitude, since the expectation will 
generally be deceived. To remember that we have 
been the means of doing good in time past, is to 
bind us to beneficence in time to come. We hear 
it continually repeated, that it requires a sublime 
effort to do good to our enemies. Men, more 
zealous than enlightened, have advanced, that the 
morality of the gospel has alone prescribed the 
rendering of good for evil. Evangelical duty is 
sufficiently elevated by being founded on the basis 
of higher sanctions, and a future retribution ; and 
rests not its claims, though it possesses them, upon 
new discoveries of what is true, beautiful, and 
obligatory in morals. 

Some of the heathen writers had not failed to 
enjoin it upon the members of communities, to aid 
and love one another. But it is only necessary to 
glance upon the apostolic epistles, to see that 
Christians were a new and peculiar people, bound 



136 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES, 

together by cords of affection, altogether unknown 
in the previous records of the human heart. What 
tenderness, what love, " stronger than death," 
what sublime disinterestedness ! How reckless the 
sordid motives of ambition and interest, which 
ruled the surrounding world! We scarcely need 
other evidence, that this simplicity of love, so 
unlike aught the world had seen before, w^as not an 
affection of earthly mould ; and that this new 
people were not bound together by ties which had 
an entire relation to the grossness of earthly bonds. 
To me there is something inexpressibly delightful, 
and of which I am never weary, in contemplating 
the originality and simplicity of early Christian 
affection, nor is it one of the feeblest testimonies to 
the glory and divinity of the gospel. 

Let us add, that in enjoining the gospel maxim 
to render good for evil, we inculcate elevation of 
mind, the source of many virtues. But christian 
moralists have too often been tempted to neutralize 
or destroy the effect of their precepts, by pushing 
them to absurd or impracticable lengths. To prac- 
tise forgiveness, and to do good, are evangelical 
commands, as sublime as they are conformable to 
our natural views of duty. To enjoin upon us to 
degrade ourselves in the estimate of our enemies, 
by feeling and acting towards them as though they 
were our friends, as some have understood the 



OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 137 

bearing of the Christian precept, would be inju- 
rious and impracticable. Socrates pardoned his 
enemies, but preserved an imposing dignity. There 
was no abasement in the infinitely higher example 
of him, who, suffering on the cross, prayed for his 
murderers. 

If such are our obligations as men and Chris- 
tians towards our enemies, what duties ought we 
not to fulfil to those benefactors who have steadily 
sought occasions to be useful to us, to ward off 
danger from us, and to repair our misfortunes ? 
To such let us seek incessant opportunities of 
acquitting our debt. Gratitude will prolong the 
pleasure conferred by their benefits. 

Indulgence and the desire to oblige, seem to me 
the two principal means of conciliating to ourselves 
the affections of our kind. A virtue which at least 
commands their esteem is integrity. Not only is 
he who practises it, faithful to his engagements, 
since he allows no promises of his to be held slight, 
but his uprightness makes itself felt in all his 
actions. The faults that he commits he is prompt 
to acknowledge ; he confesses them without false 
shame, and seeks neither to exaggerate nor ex- 
tenuate them. Touching the interests which are 
common to him and other people, he decides for 
simple justice ; and, in so awarding, does not deem 
that he injures himself, his first possession being 



138 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 

his own self-respect. Without rendering me high 
services, he obliges me in the lesser charities, and 
procures me one of the most vivid pleasures I can 
taste, that of contemplating a noble character. 

Among the virtues which ought to secure a kind 
regard, we universally assign to modesty a high 
rank. A simple and modest man lives unknown, 
until a moment, which he could not have foreseen, 
reveals his estimable qualities, and his generous 
actions. I compare him to the flower concealed 
springing from an humble stem, which escapes 
the view, and is discovered only by its fragrance. 
Pride quickly fixes the eye, and he who is always 
his own eulogist, dispenses every other person from 
the obligation to praise him. A truly modest man, 
emerging from his transient obscurity, will obtain 
those delightful praises which the heart awards 
without effort. His superiority, far from being im- 
portunate, will become attractive. Modesty gives 
to talents and virtues the same charm which chas- 
tity adds to beauty. 

Let us carry into the world neither curiosity nor 
indiscretion. Curiosity is the defect of a little 
mind, which, not knowing how to employ itself at 
home, feels the necessity of being amused with 
the occupations of others. In relation to minute 
objects it is ridiculous. In important affairs it 
becomes odious. Let us know nothing about those 



OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 139 

debates, piques and parties, which it is not in our 
power to settle ; practically observing the precept 
of the Scriptures, " Mind your own business." 

A gentle and constant equality of temper, is an 
attribute so precious, that, in my eye, it becomes a 
virtue. To sustain it, not only requires a pure 
mind, but a vigour of understanding which resists 
the petty vexations and fleeting contrarieties which 
a multitude of objects and events are continually 
bringing. What an unalterable charm does it give 
to the society of the man who possesses it ! How 
is it possible to avoid loving him whom we are 
certain always to And with serenity upon his brow, 
and a smile in his countenance ? Among the cir- 
cumstances essential to felicity, I count the attach- 
ment of some individuals, but not popularity. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



OF MARRIAGE. 

Since we cannot assure ourselves of the general 
affection, nor even of the justice of men, it becomes 
our interest, in the midst of the great mass that 
we cannot move, to create a little world, which 
we can arrange at the disposal of our reason and 
affections. 

In this retreat, dictated to us alike by our in- 
stincts and our hearts, let us forget the chimeras 
which the crowd pursue ; and if the men of fashion, 
and the world ridicule, and even condemn us, let 
their murmurs sound in our ears as the dashing of 
the waves on the distant shore, to the stranger, 
under the hospitable roof which shelters him from 
the storm. 

The universe of reason and affection must be 
composed of a single family. Of that universe a 



OF MARRIAGE. 141 

wedded pair must be the centre. A wife is the 
best and the only disinterested friend, by the award 
of nature. She remains such, when fortune has 
scattered all others. How many have been recalled 
to hope by a virtuous and affectionate wife, when 
all beside had been lost ! How many, retrieved from 
despondency, have felt in an ineffable effusion of 
heart, that her heroism and constancy were an am- 
ple indemnity for the deprivation of all other things! 
How many, undeceived by external illusions, have 
in this w T ay been brought home to their real good ! 
If we wish to see the attributes of conjugal hero- 
ism, in their purest brilliancy, let us suppose the 
husband in the last degree of wretchedness. Let 
us imagine him not only culpable, but so estimated, 
and an outcast from society. Repentance itself, in 
the view of candour, has not been available to 
cloak his faults. She alone, accusing him not, is 
only prodigal of consolations. Embracing duties 
as severe as his reverses, she voluntarily shares his 
captivity or exile. He finds still, on the faithful 
bosom of innocence, a refuge, where remorse be- 
comes appeased ; as in former days, the proscribed 
found, at the foot of the altar, an assylum against 
the fury of men. 

Marriage is generally assumed as a means of 
increasing credit and fortune, and of assuring suc- 
cess in the world. It should be undertaken as a 



142 OF MARRIAGE. 

chief element of happiness, in the retirement of 
domestic repose. I would wish that my disciple, 
while still in the freshness of youth, mi 
reason and experience enough to select the beloved 
person whom he would desire one day to espouse. 
I would hope that, captivated with her dawning 
qualities, and earnestly seeking her happiness, he 
might win her tenderness, and find his satisfaction 
in training her to a conformity to his tastes, habits, 
and character. 

The freshness of her docile nature demands his 
first forming cares. As she advances in life she is 
moulded to happy changes, adapted to supply his 
defects. She is reared modest, amiable, well- 
informed, respectable, and respected ; one day to 
govern his family, and direct his house, by diffusing 
around the domestic domain, order and peace. 
Let neither romances, metaphysics, pedantry, nor 
fashion, render a qualification for these important 
duties, either trifling or vulgar in her view. Still, 
domestic duties are by no means to occupy all her 
hours. The time which is not devoted to them 
will flow quietly on in friendly circles, not numer- 
ous, but animated by gaiety, friendship, and the 
inexplicable pleasures which spring from intercourse 
with rational society. There are, also, more unim- 
portant duties, which we expect her not to neglect. 
We wish her to occupy some moments at her 



OF MARRIAGE, 143 

toilette ; where simplicity should be the basis of 
elegance ; and where native tact might develop the 
graces, and vary, and multiply, if I may so say, the 
forms of her beauty. In fine, the versatility of 
her modes of rendering herself agreeable, should 
render it impossible to be unhappy in her presence. 

But train women to visit a library as savans, and 
they will be likely to bring from it pedantry with- 
out solid instruction; and coquetty without feminine 
amiability. I would not be understood to question 
the capability of the female understanding. I am 
not sure that I w T ould wish the wife of my friend to 
have been an author, though some of the most 
amiable and enlightened women have been such. 
But I deem that in their mental constitution, and 
in the assignment of their lot, providence has de- 
signated them to prefer the graces to erudition ; 
and that to acquire a wreath of laurels, they must 
ordinarily relinquish their native crown of roses. 

When we see a husband and wife thus united by 
tenderness, good tempers, and simple tastes, every 
thing presages for them a delightful futurity. Let 
them live contented in their retirement. Instead of 
wishing to blazon, let them conceal their happiness, 
and exist for each other. Life w T ill become to them 
the happiest of dreams. 

Too often, the deciding motive both with parents 
and young persons, in relation to marriage, is in- 



144 OF MARRIAGE. 

terest. When a man marries simply on a money 
speculation, if he sees his fortune and distinction 
secured, let disorder and alienation reign in his 
house as they may, he is still happier than he 
deserves to be. 

Some marriages of inclination guarantee happi- 
ness no more than our marriages of interest. What 
results should be anticipated from the blind impulse 
of appetite ? Let there be mutual affection, such 
as reason can survey with a calm and severe scru- 
tiny. Such love as is painted in romances is but 
a fatal fever. It is children alone who believe 
themselves in love, only when they feel them- 
selves in a delirium. They have imagined that 
life should be a continued exstacy ; and these in- 
dulged dreams of anticipation spoil the reality of 
wedded life. I have supposed the husband older 
than his wife. I have imagined him forming the 
character of his young, fair and docile companion ; 
and that, so to speak, they have become assimilated 
to each other's tastes and habits. The right com- 
bination of reason and love assures for them, under 
such circumstances, as much as possible, a futurity 
of happiness. 

I have often heard men who were sensible upon 
every other subject, express their conviction that 
the Orientals, in excluding their women from all 
eyes but their own, had established the only 



OP MARRIAGE. 145 

reasonable domestic policy. There is no more 
good sense than humanity in this barbarous senti- 
ment, however frequently it is uttered. No one 
could be in earnest, in wishing to copy, into free 
institutions, this appalling vestige of slavery. But 
my inward respect for women withholds me from 
flattering them. Authority ought to belong to the 
husband ; and the influence of tenderness, graces 
and the charms of constancy, gentleness and truth, 
constitute the appropriate female empire, and be- 
long of right to the wife, Masculine vigour, and 
aptitude to contend and resist, clearly indicate that 
nature has confided authority to man. To dispos- 
sess him of it, and control him by a still more 
irresistible sway, it is necessary that the feeble sex 
should learn patience, docility, passive courage, 
and the management of their appropriate weapons 
in danger and sorrow ; and that they should become 
energetic in the discharge of the cares of the do- 
mestic establishment. Man is formed by nature 
for the calls of active courage ; and woman, for the 
appalling scenes of pain and affliction, and the 
agony of the sick and dying bed. In a word, all 
argument apart, nature has clearly demonstrated to 
which sex authority belongs. 

The defects of man spring from the tendency of 
his natural traits, in which force predominates, to 
run to excess. I see his gentle companion endowed 



146 OF MARRIAGE, 

with attributes and qualities naturally tending to 
temper his imperfections. The means she has 
received to reach this end announce that it is the 
purpose of heaven that she should use them with 
this view. She has charms which, when rightly 
applied, none can resist. Her character is a happy 
compound of sensibility, and wisdom. She has 
superadded a felicity of address which she owes to 
her organization, and which the reserve, that her 
education imposes, serves to develop. Thus the 
qualities, and even the imperfections of the two 
sexes serve to bring them together. It follows, 
that man should possess authority, and woman in- 
fluence, for their mutual happiness. 

When the wife dictates, I cease to behold a 
respectable married pair. I see a ridiculous tyrant, 
and a still more ridiculous slave. It is vain to urge 
that she may be most capable of authority, and that 
her orders may be conformable to wisdom and jus- 
tice. They are absurd, from the very circumstance 
that they are commands. The virtues which the 
husband ought to practise towards his wife must 
have their origin in love, which can only be inspired, 
and which flies all restraint. In a single position, 
the wife honours herself in assuming authority. It 
is when reverses have overwhelmed and desolated 
her husband, so that, ceasing to sustain her, and 
changing the natural order of things, she supports 



OF MARRIAGE. 147 

him. He receives hope as her gift ; he is compel- 
led to blush in imitating her example of courage ; 
but she aspires to this power no longer than to be 
able to restore him to the place whence misery had 
cast him down. 

It is a truth that is indisputable, that dissatisfied 
husbands and wives often love each other more 
than they imagine. Suppose them to believe them- 
selves indifferent ; and to seem so ; and even on 
the verge of mutual hate ; should one of them fall 
sick, we see the other inspired with sincere alarms. 
Suppose them on the eve of separation ; when the 
fatal moment comes, both recoil from the act. 
Habit almost causes the pains, to which we have 
been long accustomed, to become cause of regret 
when they cease. When the two begin mutually 
to complain of their destiny, I counsel each, instead 
of washing to criminate and correct each other, to 
give each other an example of mutual forbearance 
and indulgence. It may be, that the cause of their 
mutual dissatisfaction is unreal; the supposed wrong 
not intended, the suspicion false. Candour and for- 
giveness will appease all. The husband may have 
gone astray only in thought. The wife may have 
minor defects, and an unequal temper, without for- 
feiting much excellence and still remaining claims 
to be loved. The morbid influence of ill health, 
and its oftentimes irresistible action upon the tern- 



148 OF MARRIAGE. 

per, may have been the source whence the faults 
flowed on either part; and the mutual wrongs may 
thus have been, in some sense, independent of the 
will of the parties. Bound, as they are, in such 
intimate and almost indissoluble relations, before 
they give that happiness, which they hoped and 
promised, to the winds, let them exhaust their 
efforts of self-command and mutual indulgence, to 
rekindle the lamp of genuine affection. 

A part of the purest happiness which earth yields^ 
is unquestionably, the portion of two beings wisely 
and fitly united in the bonds of indissoluble confi- 
dence and affection. What a touching picture 
does Madame de Stael present to us, where she 
says, " I saw, during my sojourn in England, a 
man of the highest merit united to a wife worthy of 
him. One day, as we were walking together, we 
met some of those people that the English call 
gipseys, who generally wander about the woods in 
the most deplorable condition. I expressed pity 
for them thus enduring the union of all the physi- 
cal evils of nature. ' Had it been necessary/ said 
the husband, pointing to his wife, ' in order to 
spend my life with her, that I should have passed 
thirty years in begging, we should still have been 
happy.' ' Yes,' replied the wife, ' the happiest of 
beings/ " 



CHAPTER XIV, 



CHILDREN. 

One of the happiest days, and one of the most de- 
lightful of life, is when the birth of a child opens 
the heart of the parent to emotions as yet unknown. 
Yet what pains are prepared for us by this circum- 
stance ! What anxiety, what agonies their suffer- 
ings excite ! What terror, when we fear for their 
infant life ! And these alarms terminate not with 
their early age. The inquietude with which parents 
watch over the destiny of children, fills every period 
of life, even to the last sigh. 

The compensating satisfaction which they bring 
must be very vivid, since it counterbalances so 
many sufferings. In order to love them, we have 
no need to be convinced that they will respond to 
our cares, and one day repay them. If there be in 
the human heart one disinterested sentiment, it is 



150 CHILDREN. 

parental love. Our tenderness for our children is 
independent of reflection. We love them because 
they are our children. Their existence makes a 
part of ours ; or rather, is more than ours. All 
that is either useful or pleasant to them, brings us 
a pure happiness, springing from their health, their 
gaiety, and their amusements. 

The chief end which we ought to propose to 
ourselves, in rearing them, is to train and dispose 
them so that they may wisely enjoy that existence 
which is accorded them. Of all the happy influ- 
ences which can be brought to bear upon their 
mind and manners, few are more beneficial than 
the example of parental gentleness. But there are 
minds which see only the inconveniences which ac- 
company it. We hear people regretting the decline 
of the severity of ancient education ; and main- 
taining the wisdom of those contrarieties and 
vexations which children used to experience ; "a 
fitting discipline of preparation," say they, " to 
prepare them for the sorrows of life." Would they, 
on the same principle, inflict bruises and contusions, 
to train them to the right endurance of those that 
carelessness or accident might bring ? " It is an 
advantage," say they, " to put them to an appren- 
ticeship of pain at the period when the sorrow 
it inflicts is light and transient." This mode of 
speaking, with many others of similar import, pre- 



CHILDREN. 151 

sents a combination of much error with some truth. 
The sufferings of childhood seem to us trifling 
and easy to endure, because time has interposed 
distance between them and us ; and we have no 
fear of ever meeting them again. Yet it does not 
cease to be a fact, that the child that passes a year 
under the discipline of the ferule of a severe mas- 
ter, is as unhappy as a man deprived a year of his 
liberty. The latter, in truth, has less reason to 
complain ; since he ought to find, in the discipline 
of his reason and his maturity and force of charac- 
ter, more powerful motives for patient endurance. 
Parents, Providence has placed the destiny of your 
children in your hands. When you thus sacrifice 
the present to an uncertain future, you ought to 
have strong proof that you will put at their dispo- 
sal the means of indemnification. If the sacrifice 
of the present to the future were indispensable, I 
would not dissuade from it. But my conviction is, 
that the best means of preparing them for the 
future may be found in rendering them as happy 
as possible for the present. If it should be your 
severe trial to be deprived of them in their early 
days, you will, at least, have the consolation of 
being able to say, " I have rendered them happy 
during the short time they were confided to me." 
Strive then, by gentleness, guided by wisdom and 
authority, to cast the sunshine of enjoyment upon 



152 CHILDREN. 

the necessary toils and studies of the morning of 
their existence. 

It is the stern award of nature to bring them 
sorrows. Our task is to soothe them. I feel an 
interest when I see the child regret the trinket it 
has broken, or the bird it has reared. Nature in 
this way gives them the first lessons of pain, and 
strengthens them to sustain the more bitter losses 
of maturer days. Let us prudently second the 
efforts of nature ; and to console the weeping child, 
let us not attempt to change the course of these 
fugitive ideas, nor to efface the vexation by a plea- 
sure. In unavoidable suffering, let the dawning 
courage and reason find strength for endurance. 
Let us first share the regrets, and gently bring the 
sufferer to feel the inutility of tears. Let us 
accustom him not to throw away his strength in 
useless efforts ; and let us form his mind to bear 
without a murmur the yoke of necessity. These 
maxims, I am aware, are directly against the spirit 
of modern education, which is almost entirely 
directed towards the views of ambition. 

But while I earnestly inculcate gentleness in 
parental discipline, I would not confound it with 
weakness. I disapprove that familiarity between 
parents and children which is unfavourable to sub- 
ordination. Fashion is likely to introduce an 
injurious equality into this relation. I see the 



CHILDREN. 153 

progress of this dangerous effeminacy with regret. 
The dress and expenditures which would formerly 
have supplied ten children, scarcely satisfy at 
present the caprices of one. This foolish complai- 
sance of parents prepares, for the future husbands 
and wives, a task most difficult to fulfil. Let us 
not, by anticipating and preventing the wishes of 
children, teach them to be indolent in searching 
for their own pleasures. Their age is fertile in 
this species of invention. That they may be suc- 
cessful in seizing enjoyment, little more is requisite 
to be performed, on our part, than to break their 
chains. 

There are two fruitful sources of torments for 
children. One is, what the present day denomi- 
nates politeness. It is revolting to me to see 
children early trained to forego their delightful 
frankness and simplicity, and learning artificial 
manners. We wish them to become little person- 
ages, and we compel them to receive tiresome 
compliments, and to repeat insignificant formulas 
of common-place flattery. In this way, politeness, 
destined to impart amenity to life, becomes a 
source of vexation and restraint. It would seem 
as if we thought it so important a matter to teach 
the usages of society, that they cordd never be 
known unless the study were commenced in in- 
fancy. Besides, do we flatter ourselves, that we 



154 CHILDREN. 

shall be able to teach children the modes and the 
vocabulary of politeness, without initiating them, 
at the same time, in the rudiments of falsehood ? 
They are compelled to see that we consider it a 
trine. If we wish them to become flatterers and 
dishonest, I ask, what more efficient method could 
we take ? 

Labour is the second source of their sufferings. 
I would by no means be understood to dissuade 
from the assiduous cultivation of habits of industry. 
You may enable children to remove mountains, if 
you will contrive to render their tasks a matter of 
amusement and interest. The extreme curiosity of 
children announces an instinctive desire for in- 
struction But instead of profiting by it, we 
adopt measures which tend to stifle it. We render 
their studies tiresome, and then say that the young 
naturally tire of study. 

When the parent is sufficiently enlightened to 
rear his child himself, instead of plying him with 
rudimental books, dictionaries and restraint, let 
him impart the first instructions by familiar con- 
versation. Ideas advanced in this w^ay are accom- 
modated to the comprehension of the pupil, by 
mutual good feeling rendered attractive, and 
brought directly within the embrace of his mind. 
This instruction leads him to observe, and accus- 
toms him to compare, reflect and discriminate, 



CHILDREN. 155 

offers the sciences under interesting associations, 
and inspires a natural thirst for instruction. Of 
all results which education can produce, this is the 
most useful. A youth of fifteen, trained in this 
way, will come into possession of more truths, 
mixed with fewer errors, than much older persons 
reared in the common way. He will be distin- 
guished by the early maturity of his reason, and by 
his eagerness to cultivate the sciences, which, 
instead of producing fatigue or disgust, will every 
day give birth to new ideas and new pleasures. I 
am nevertheless little surprised, that the scrupulous 
advocates of the existing routine should insist that 
such a method tends to form superficial thinkers. 
I can only say to these profound panegyrists of the 
present order of instruction, that the method which 
I recommend, was that of the Greeks. Their phi- 
losophers taught while walking in the shade of the 
portico or of trees, and were ignorant of the art of 
rendering " study tiresome, and not disposed to 
throw over it the benefits of constraint. Modern 
instructors ought, therefore, to find that they were 
shallow reasoners, and that their poets and artists 
could have produced only crude and unfinished 
efforts. 

Besides, this part of education is of trifling im- 
portance, compared with the paramount obligation 
to give the pupil robust health, pure morals, and 



156 CHILDREN. 

an energetic mind. I deeply regret that the des- 
potic empire of opinion is more powerful than 
paternal love. Instead of gravely teaching to your 
son the little arts of shining in the world, have the 
courage to say to him, " Oblige your friends whose 
sufferings you can lighten, and exhibit a constant 
and universal example of good morals. Form, 
every evening, projects necessary for enjoying a 
happy and useful succeeding day." Thus you will 
see him useful, good and happy, if not great in the 
world's estimation. You will behold him peace- 
fully descending the current of time. In striking 
the balance with life, he will be able to say, " I 
have known only those sufferings which no wisdom 
could evade, and no efforts repel, 

Is not that filial ingratitude, of which parents so 
generally complain, the bitter fruit of their own 
training ? You fill their hearts with mercenary 
passions, and with measureless ambition. You 
break the tender est ties, and send them to distant 
public schools. Your children, in turn, put your 
lessons to account, and abandon your importunate 
and declining age, if you depend on them, to mer- 
cenary hands. When they were young, you 
ridiculed them out of their innocent frankness and 
want of worldly wisdom. You vaunted to them 
that ambition and those arts of rising, which, put 
in practice, have steeled their hearts against filial 



CHILDREN. 157 

piety, as well as the other affections that belong 
not to calculation. Since the paramount object of 
your training was to teach them to shine, and 
make the most out of every body, you have at least 
a right to expect from their vanity, pompous fune- 
ral solemnities. I revere that indication of infinite 
wisdom, that has rendered the love of the parent 
more anxious and tender than that of the child. 
The intensity- of the affections ought to be propor- 
tionate to the wants of the beings that excite them. 
But ingratitude is not always in nature. Better 
training would have produced other manners. In 
rearing our children with more enlightened care, 
in inspiring them with moderate desires, in re- 
ducing their eagerness for brilliancy and distinction, 
we shall render them happy, without stifling their 
natural filial sentiments ; and we shall thus use the 
best means of training them to sustain and soothe 
our last moments, as we embellished their first 
days. 



CHAPTER XV. 



OF FRIENDSHIP, 



Let us bring within the family circle a few persons 
of amiable manners and simple tastes. Our do- 
mestic retreat may then become our universe. But 
we must search for real friends, with capabilities 
for continuing" such. If interest and pleasure break 
the accidental ties of a day, shall friendship, which 
was always a stranger to the connexion, be accused 
of the infraction ? 

A real friend must not be expected from the 
common ties of vulgar interest ; but must be, in 
the circle to which he belongs, as a brother of 
adoption. So simple should be our confidence in 
the entireness of his affection, and the disinterest- 
edness and wisdom of his advice, as to incline us 
to consult him without afflicting our wife or child- 
ren by a useless communication of our perplexities. 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 159 

To him we should be able to confide our fears ; 
and while we struggle, by his advice and aid to 
escape the pressing evil which menaces to over- 
whelm us, our family may still repose in tranquil 
security. 

If he suffer in turn, we share his pains. If he 
have pleasures, we reciprocally enjoy them. If 
either party experience reverses, instead of finding 
himself alone in misery, he receives consolations so 
touching and tender, that he ceases to complain of 
a lot which has enabled him to become acquainted 
with the depth of the resources of friendship. 

How pure is the sentiment, how simple the 
pleasures, which flow from the intercourse of two 
persons united by similar opinions and like desires, 
who have both cultivated letters, the arts, and true 
wisdom ! With what rapidity the moments of 
these charming conversations fly ! Even the hours 
consecrated to study are less pleasant, perhaps less 
instructive. Such a friend, so to speak, is of a 
different nature from that of the rest of men. 
They either conceal our defects, or cause us to see 
them from motives of ill-feeling. A friend so 
discusses them, in our presence, as not to wound 
us. He kindly reproaches us with faults, to our 
face, which he extenuates, or excuses before others 
in our absence. We can never fully comprehend 
to what extent a friend mav be useful and dear, 



160 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

until after having been a long time the faithful 
companion of his good and evil fortune. What 
emotions we experience in giving ourselves up to 
the remembrance of the common perils, storms, 
and trials we have experienced together ! It is 
never without tenderness of heart that we say, 
" We have had the same thoughts, affections, and 
hopes. Such an event penetrated us with common 
joy ; such another filled us with grief. Uniting 
our efforts, we rescued a victim of poverty and mis- 
fortune. We mutually shared his tears of gratitude. 
The hard necessity of circumstances separated us ; 
and our paths so diverged that seas and mountains 
divided us. But we still remained present to each 
other, in communion of thought. He had fears 
for me, and I for him, as we foresaw each other's 
dangers. Finally, we met again ; what charms, 
what effusion of heart in the union V 

I immediately form a high opinion of the man, 
whom I hear earnest in the applause of the talents 
or virtues of his friend. He possesses the qualities 
which he applauds ; since he has need to affirm 
their existence in the person he loves, 

This noble and pure sentiment has had its pacific 
heroes. What names, what examples could I not 
cite, in ancient and in modern times ! What splen- 
did and affecting proofs of identity of fortune, joys, 
and sorrows, and even danger and death ! 1 knew 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 161 

two friends, of whom every one spoke with respect. 
One of them was asked the extent of his fortune ? 
"Mine is small," he replied, "but my friend is 
rich." The other, a few days before he died of a 
contagious disease, asked, " Why so many persons 
were allowed to enter his chamber ? No one," he 
added, " ought to be admitted but my friend." 
Thus they were one in fortune, in life, and in 
death. 

I deem, that even moralists have sought to ren- 
der this gentle affection, and the only one exempt 
from storms, too exclusive. I am aware, how 
much our affections become enfeebled, in propor- 
tion as their objects multiply. There is force in 
the quaint expression of an old author. " Love is 
like a large stream, which bears heavy laden boats. 
Divide it into many channels, and they run a- 
ground." Still, we may give the honoured name 
of friend to several, without profaning it, if there 
exist between us mutual sympathy, high esteem, 
and tender interest ; if our pleasures and pains are 
in some sense, common stock, and we are recipro- 
cally capable of a sincere devotion to each other's 
welfare. As much, however, as I revere the real 
sentiments, I am disgusted by the sickly or exag- 
gerated affectation of it. 

The sentiment is still more delightful, when 
inspired by the softer sex. I shall be asked, if it 



162 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

can exist in its purity between persons of the dif- 
ferent sexes ? I answer in the affirmative, when 
the impulses of youth no longer agitate the heart. 
We then experience the whole charm of the senti- 
ment, as the difference of sex which is never en- 
tirely forgotten, imparts to it a vague and touching 
tenderness, and an ideal delight for which language 
is too poor to furnish terms. 

Why can love and friendship, the sunshine of 
existence, decay in the heart ? Why are they not 
eternal ? But since it is not so, if we are cruelly 
deceived in our affections, the surest means of me- 
dicating our pain is, instead of cherishing misan- 
thropic distrust, to look round, and form the same 
generous ties anew. Has your friend abandoned 
you ? or, worse, has your wife become unworthy 
of your love ? It is better to be deceived a thou- 
sand times, than to add to the grief of wounded 
affection, the insupportable burden of general dis- 
trust, misanthropy, and hatred. Let these baneful 
feelings never usurp the place of those sentiments 
which must constitute human happiness. Pardon 
your professed friends the sorrows, which their 
unkindness may have caused you, in consideration 
of those days of the past which were embellished 
by then friendship. 

But these treasons and perfidies are only fre- 
quent in the intercourse of those who are driven 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 163 

about bv the whirlwinds of life ; in which so many 
opposing' interests, so many deceitful pleasures 
confuse and separate men. The simple minded 
and good, whose days flow pleasantly in retreat, 
every day value more the price of those ties that 
unite them. Their happiness is veiled and guaran- 
teed by obscurity. 

I give place to none of the illusions of inexperi- 
ence in regard to men. The errors, contradictions, 
and vices with which they are charged, exist. I 
admit that many satires are faithful paintings. But 
there are still to be found, everywhere, persons 
whose manners are frank, whose heart is kind, and 
whose temper amiable. These persons exist in 
sufficient numbers to compose this new world of 
which I have spoken. Writers are disposed to 
declaim against men. I have never ceased to feel 
good- will towards my kind. I have chosen only 
to withdraw from the multitude, in order to select 
my position in the centre of a small society. 

I w T ish those, most dear to me, implicitly to 
believe in friendship. I would a thousand times 
prefer, that they should err on the side of credulity, 
than of suspicion and distrust. I consider real 
misanthropy a great misfortune. I would rather 
my children should meet with treachery and incon- 
stancy every day of their lives, tnan resign them- 
selves to the heartless persuasion, weakly considered 

• 



164 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

an attribute of wisdom snd greatness, that men are 
altogether selfish, and unworthy of confidence. This 
principle invests the world in darkness, which 
" may be felt ;" and, by an energetic bearing on 
all the faculties and sources of feeling, causes the 
heart, that entertains such views, to become what 
it believes to be the character of the species. 

No scruples of false decorum shall withhold me 
from saying, that I have seen friendship, pure, 
holy, disinterested, akin to that of the angelic 
beings ; nay, more, — have been myself the subject 
of it. My heart swells, and will to its latest pulsa- 
tion, with the remembered proofs. True, the 
instances, that have fallen within the compass of 
my experience, are very few. But they are suffi- 
cient to settle my conviction, that the sentiment, 
which has inspired the enthusiasm of eloquence, 
painting and song, in all time, is not the illusion of 
a weak and misguided imagination. Selfish as 
man is, we often see instances of the most generous 
and devoted friendship, even in this silver age, the 
age of revenue and political economy. 

While every one is sensible, that there must 
exist between characters, that are susceptible of all 
the fidelity and beauty of this sentiment, a certain 
adaptation of circumstances, and conformity of 
disposition, mind, development and temperament ; 
I believe with St. Pierre, that it is desirable, that 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 165 

there should be a certain degree of contrast, as 
well as much similarity. The same opinions, tastes, 
tempers and views have been found by experience, 
sometimes not to generate the most permanent, 
and pleasant friendships. The moral, as well as 
the physical appetite, at times grows weary of per- 
petual uniformity and unvarying likeness, and 
requires the spice, afforded by the mixture of 
various ingredients of affectionate contrariety. 
" Soldiers," says St. Pierre, " on long and distant 
expeditions, should be associated with ministers, 
lawyers with naturalists, and in general, the 
strongest contrasts of profession," — " all nature's 
discord thus making all nature's peace." But I 
am perfectly aware, that there will be great danger 
of making fatal mistakes, in acting on this princi- 
ple. It is true in the abstract ; but let sentiment- 
alists beware of trenching too confidently on 
ground, where the limits between safety and ruin 
are so narrow and so difficult. Doves of a different 
feather may pair happily, but not doves and vul- 
tures. There must be a certain compatibility not 
only of character, but of age, condition and 
circumstances, as we are broadly instructed in the 
fable of the frog thinking to wed with the ox. 

The fame and character of the one are strictly 
the property of the other. Let no one who has 
the least particle of the base alloy of envy in his 



166 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

feelings towards him whom he calls his friend, 
who is willing to hear and countenance abatements 
of his qualities, talents, or virtues, dare to assume 
that almost sacred name. He is equally unworthy 
of it, if he stand by in neutrality when calumny is 
busily passing against him ; and still more, if by 
smiles he gives his countenance, and half his con- 
sent, to the story of detraction and abatement. It 
is a forfeiture of the right to the name, though it 
may be a less worthy one, to make the person 
called friend, the subject of jest and ridicule. In 
regard to all these points, the duties are clear, 
distinct, palpable, and not to be compromised. 
Every honourable mind feels, in witnessing any 
infraction of the laws of equity, or strict justice, a 
sentiment of recoil and disgust, difficult perhaps to 
define, but one which instantly designates the 
person guilty of it, as unworthy of the name of 
friend. Honest, frank and disinterested advice, 
especially in relation to concerns of great interest 
to the party, is a paramount obligation, whether 
the advised will bear, or forbear. This prerogative 
may, indeed, be claimed by unfeeling and rude 
bluntness. But, by a discriminating mind, the 
suggestions of a counterfeit, will never be mistaken 
for those of genuine friendship. 

The time, the courtesy and the amount of inter- 
course, due from one friend to another, can never 



OP FRIENDSHIP. 167 

be brought under subjection to rules. Moral, like 
physical attraction, acting unconsciously, will 
regulate this portion of duty, with the unvarying 
certainty of the laws of nature. If persons, claim- 
ing to sustain this relation to each other, do not 
wish to be as much together, as duty and propriety 
will admit ; if they allow this matter to be settled 
by the rigid tithing of etiquette, they are any thing 
rather than real friends. 

When friends are separated wide from each 
other by distance, duty, and the stem calls of our 
pursuits, 1 admire the custom of baptizing, if I 
may so say, our remembrances, by giving the 
names of our dear and distant friends to the hills, 
valleys, streams, trees or pleasant views in our 
walks ; or the objects most familiar and pleasant to 
our view. The stern silence of nature may thus be 
compelled to find a tongue, and discourse with us 
of those we love. 

In a word, the name, I am sensible, is too often 
a mockery of cold and affected sentimentalism. 
But the sentiment exists, pure, simple, delightful. 
Neither fawning, nor cant, nor flattery, nor any 
mixture of earth's mould makes any part of it. 
Honourable, dignified, unshaken, it feels its obli- 
gations, and discharges them. The reputation, 
character and whole interest of the friend is its 
object ; and his highest happiness its prayer. In 



168 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

holy separation from the hollow intercourse, false 
phrases and deceitful compliments of fashion, and 
what is called the world, it is faithful and consist- 
ent, under all proofs and trials, until death ; and 
when the eyes of the departed are closed, his 
memory is enshrined in the remembrance of the 
survivor, Thank God ! I have seen, I have felt, 
that there are such friendships ; and if there is 
any thing honourable, dignified and attractive in 
aught, that earth presents, it is the sight of two 
friends, whose attachment dates from their first 
remembered sentiment ; and has survived differ- 
ence of opinion and interest, the changes of 
distance, time and disease, and those weaning 
influences, which while they crumble the most 
durable monuments, convert most hearts to stone. 

I have examined the essential things of life, 
tranquillity, independence of mind, health, compe- 
tence, and the affection of some of our kind. I 
wish now to give my observations something more 
of detail and diversity. But I wish it still to be 
borne in mind, that I give only the materials and 
outlines of an essay, and make no pretensions to fill 
out a complete treatise. I wish that a temple may 
be raised to happiness. Hands, more skilful than 
mine, will rear it. It is sufficient to my purpose 
to indicate those delightful positions, on the summit 
of which it may be erected. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 

Heaven has decreed, that each one of our senses 
should be a source of pleasure. But if we seek our 
enjoyment, only in physical sensations, the same 
stern arbiter has enacted, that our capability of 
pleasure should soon be exhausted, and that, palled 
and disgusted, we should die without having known 
true happiness. 

I have long been in the habit of measuring the 
character, mental power and prospects of the young, 
who are brought by circumstances under my obser- 
vation, by the power which they evince, to resist 
the suggestion of the senses. In the same pro- 
portion, as I see them capable of rising above 
the thraldom of their appetites, capable of that 
energy of will, that gives the intellectual control 
over the animal nature, I graduate them higher in 



170 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 

the scale of moral power and prospect. But if, in 
their course, they manifest the clear preponderance 
of the animal ; if sloth, sensuality, and the inclina- 
tions, which have no higher origin than the senses, 
sway them heyond the influence of advice and 
moral suasion, be they ever so beautiful, endowed, 
rich, distinguished, be their place in general esti- 
mation, ever so high, I put them down as belong- 
ing more to the animal, than the intellectual orders 
of being. 

Exactly in proportion as pleasures are less asso- 
ciated with the mind, their power to give us any 
permanent satisfaction is diminished. On the con- 
trary, they become vivid and durable, precisely in 
the degree in which they awaken and call forth 
moral ideas. They become in a measure celestial, 
when they connect the past with the present, 
the present with the future, and the whole with 
heaven. 

If we scrutinize the pleasures of the senses, we 
shall always find their charm increasing in propor- 
tion as they rise in the scale of purification, and 
become transformed, in some sense, to the dignity 
of moral enjoyments. 

I look at a painting ; it represents an old man, a 
child, a woman giving alms, and a soldier, whose 
attitude expresses astonishment. I admire the 
fidelity, the truth and colouring of the picture ; and 



THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 171 

my eye is intensely gratified. But remaining igno- 
rant of the subject, I go away, and the whole 
shortly vanishes from my memory. 1 see it again; 
and now I notice the inscription at the bottom, 
Date obolum Belisario — " Give your charity to Beli- 
sarius.' , I then recollect an interesting passage of 
history. A crowd of moral images throng upon 
my spirit ; I soften to tenderness ; and I compre- 
hend the affecting lesson, which the artist is giving 
me. I review the painting, again and again; and 
thrill at the view of the blind warrior, and of the 
child holding out his helmet to receive alms. 

When we travel, those points of view in the 
landscape which long fix our eye, are those which 
awaken ideas of innocence and peace, or those 
which affect the heart with associations connected 
with the morning of our life ; or ideas of that 
power and immensity, which move and elevate the 
soul. The paintings of nature, as well as those 
of men, are thus capable of being embellished by 
moral associations. In travelling, I perceive a 
delightful isle embosomed in a peaceful lake. While 
I contemplate it, with the simple pleasure excited 
by a charming landscape, I am told that it is inha- 
bited by a happy pair, who were long afflicted and 
separated; but who are now living there with much 
of the innocence and peace of the first tenants of 
paradise. How different an interest the landscape 



172 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES, 

now assumes ! I behold the happy pair, without 
care or regret, sheltered from jealous observation, 
enjoying each other's society, gratefully contem- 
plating the Author of the beautiful scenery around 
them ; and elevating their love and their hearts in 
praise to Him. 

Spots, which in themselves, have no peculiar 
charm, become most beautiful as soon as they 
awaken touching remembrances. Suppose your- 
self cast by misfortune on the care of a stranger in 
a strange land. He attempts to despel your dejec- 
tion, and says, " These countries are hospitable, 
and nature here puts forth all her opulence ; come 
and enjoy it with us." The gay landscapes, which 
spread before you, all assume the appearance of 
strangers ; and offer but little attraction. But 
while your eye traverses the scenery with indiffer- 
ence, you see blue hills melting into the distant 
horizon. No person remarks them, but yourself. 
They resemble the mountains of your own country, 
the scenes upon which your infant view first rested. 
You turn away to conceal the new emotions, and 
your eyes are filling with tears. You continue to 
gaze fondly on those hills, dear to memory. In 
the midst of a rich landscape, they are all that 
interests you. You return to review them every 
day, and demand of them their treasured remem- 
brances and illusions, — the dearest pleasures of 
your exile. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 173 

All the senses would offer me examples, in illus- 
tration of this idea. Deprive the pleasures of 
physical love of moral associations, which touch 
the heart, and you take from it all that elevates the 
enjoyment above that of the lowest animals. Else, 
why do modesty, innocence, the expression of un- 
stained chastity, and the graces of simplicity possess 
such enchanting attractions ? The truth, that there 
exists in love a charm stronger than physical im- 
pulse, is not unknown even to women of abandoned 
manners. The most dangerous of all those in this 
unhappy class, are they, who, not relying on their 
beauty, feign still to possess, or deeply to regret 
those virtues, which they have really cast away. 

The last delights which imagination can add to 
the pleasures of love, are not to be sought in those 
vile places where libertinism is an art. We must 
imagine the early attachments of virtuous youth, 
whose spirits are blended in real affection, in similar 
tastes, pursuits and hopes ; who realize those vague 
images which they had scarcely allowed before to 
float across the mind. 

They who seek in the pleasures of taste only 
physical sensations, degrade their minds and finish 
their useless existence in infirmity and brutal degra- 
dation. The pleasures of taste should only serve 
to render other enjoyments more vivid, the imagi- 
nation more brilliant, and the pursuits of life more 
easy and pleasant. 



174 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 

The pleasures derived from odours are only vivid, 
when they impart to the mind a fleeting and vague 
exaltation. If the Orientals indulge a passion for 
respiring perfumes, it is not solely to procure 
pleasurable physical sensation. An embalmed 
atmosphere exalts the senses, and disposes the 
mind to pleasant reverie, and paints dreams of 
paradise upon the indolent imagination. 

Were I disposed to present the details of a sys- 
tem upon this subject, the sense of hearing would 
offer me a crowd of examples. The brilliant and 
varied accents of the nightingale are ravishing. 
But what a difference between hearing the melody 
from a cage, and listening to the song at the noon 
of night, when a cool and pure air refreshes the 
lassitude of the burning day, and we behold objects 
by the light of the moon, and hear the strains of 
the solitary bird poured from her free bower ! 

A symphony, the sounds of which only delight 
the ear, would soon become wearying. If it have 
no other determinate expression, it ought, at least, 
to inspire reverie, and produce an effect not unlike 
that of perfumes upon the Orientals. 

Suppose we have been at a musical entertain- 
ment, got up with all the luxury of art. Emotions 
of delight and astonishment rapidly succeed each 
other, and we believe it impossible to experience 
superior sensations of pleasure. In returning home, 



THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 175 

we chance to hear in the distance, through the 
stillness of night, a well remembered song of our 
infancy, that was sung to us by some one dear 
to our memory. It is at once a music exciting 
more profound emotion, than all the strains of art 
which we so recently thought could not be sur- 
passed. The remembrances of infancy and home 
rush upon the spirit, and efface the pompous spec- 
tacle, and the artificial graces of execution. 

Observations to the same effect might be multi- 
plied without end. If you desire pleasures, fertile 
in happy remembrances, if you wish to preserve 
elevation of mind and freshness of imagination, 
choose, among the pleasures of the senses, only 
those which associate with moral ideas. Feeble, 
when separated from the alliance of those ideas, 
they become fatal when they exclude them. To 
dare to taste them, is to sacrifice happiness to 
pleasures which are alike ephemeral and degrading. 
It is to resemble him, who should strip the tree of 
its flowers, to enjoy their beauty. He loses the 
fruits which would have followed, and scarcely casts 
his eye on the flowers before they have faded. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 

The Creator has put forth in his gifts, a magni- 
ficence which should impress our hearts. What 
variety in those affectionate sentiments, of the 
delights of which our natures are susceptible ! 
Without going out of the family circle, I enumerate 
filial piety, fraternal affection, friendship, love, and 
parental tenderness. These different sentiments 
can all co- exist in our hearts, and so far from 
weakening, each tends to give vigour and intensity 
to the other. No doubt, the need of so many 
affections and props attest our feebleness and 
dependence. But I can scarcely conceive of the 
happiness which a being, insensible to weakness 
and want, could find in himself. I am ready to 
bless that infirmity of our natures, which is the 
source of so many pleasures, and such tender 
affections. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 177 

Let us avoid confounding that sensibility which 
exacts the pleasures of the heart, with that which 
produces impassioned characters. They differ as 
essentially as the genuine, vital warmth, from the 
burning of a fever. Indolence, objects calculated 
strongly to strike the imagination, and those 
maxims which corrupt the understanding, develop 
a vas;ue and ardent sensibilitv, which sometimes 
conducts to crime, and always to misery. The 
other species is approved by reason and preserved 
by virtue. We owe to it those pure emotions 
which impart upon earth an indistinct sentiment of 
the joys of heaven. 

There are men, however, who dread genuine 
sensibility ; and, under the conviction that it will 
multiply their pains, study to eradicate the germs 
of it from their soul. Hume remarked to a friend, 
who confided to him his secret sorrows, " You 
entertain an internal enemy, w T ho will always 
hinder you from being happy. It is your sensi- 
bility of heart/' " What !" responded his friend 
with a kind of terror, " Have you not sensibility ?" 
" No. My reason alone speaks, and it declares 
that it is right to soothe distress." 

In listening to this reply of Hume, we are at 
once struck with the idea, that the greater part 
of those who adopt his principles, do not pause at 
the same point with their model. They sink into 



178 THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 

that heartless class, who see all human calamities 
with a dry eye, provided they have no tendency to 
abridge their own enjoyments. 

Suppose even that they pursue the lessons of the 
Scotch philosopher to better purpose ; and without 
any emotion, without any impulse of heart, hold 
out a succouring hand to those who suffer. This, 
perhaps, may answer the claims of reason. But 
the social instinct will always repel that austere 
morality, which would give to the human heart an 
unnatural insensibility, and deprive it, if I may so 
say, of its amiable weakness. I would hardly 
desire to see a man oppose a courage, too stoical 
to his own miseries. The natural tears which he 
sheds in extreme affliction, are his guarantee for 
the sympathy which he will feel for my sorrows. I 
say to the heartless philosophers of the world, that 
if the only requisite for happiness is to avoid 
suffering, through destitution of feeling, to die is 
the surest method of all. 

The secret of happiness does not consist in 
avoiding all evils ; for in that case, we must learn 
to love nothing. If there be a lot on earth worthy 
of envy, it is that of a man, good and tender 
hearted, who beholds his own creation in the hap- 
piness of all who surround him. Let him who 
would be happy, strive to encircle himself with 
happy beings. Let the happiness of his family 



THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 179 

be the incessant object of his thoughts. Let him 
divine the sorrows and anticipate the wishes of his 
friends. Let him inspire the fidelity of affection 
in his domestics, by pledging to them a comfort- 
able and pleasant old age. Let him, as far as 
may be, preserve the same servants, and give them 
all needed succour and counsel. In fine, let the 
inmates and dependents of the house all respire a 
calm and regulated happiness. Let even the 
domestic animals know, that humanity presides 
over their condition. 

Entertaining such views, it will be easy to see 
in what light I contemplate those men who take 
pleasure in witnessing the combats of animals. 
What man, who has a heart, can see spectacles, 
equally barbarous and detestable, with satisfaction ; 
such as dogs tearing to pieces a bull exhausted 
with wounds ; cocks mangling each other ; the 
encounter of brutal boxers, or of bad boys in the 
streets encouraged to the diabolical sport of fight- 
ing ? These are the true schools of cowardly and 
savage ferocity, and not of manly courage, as too 
many have supposed. But it is not my purpose to 
draw a painting in detail of the abominations of 
cruelty, or of the pleasures of beneficence. 

To preserve the sentiments of beneficence and 
sensibility, let us avoid the pride which mars them. 
Beneficence in one respect resembles love. Like 
that, it courts concealment and the shade. 



ISO THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 

The most useful direction we can give to benefi- 
cence is, to multiply its gifts as widely as possible. 
Let us avoid imitating those men who are always 
fearful of being deceived by those who solicit their 
pity. In an uncertainty whether or not you ought 
to extend succour, grant it. It can only expose 
you to the error that is least subject to repentance. 

Offer useful counsels and indulgent consolations. 
Save, from despair, the unfortunate victim, who 
groans under the remorse of an unpremeditated 
fault. Unite him again to society by those cords 
which his imprudence has broken. Rekindle in 
him the love of his kind, by saying to him, 
" Though you may not recover innocence, repent- 
ance can at least restore your virtue." 

If we have access to the opulent and powerful, 
we have an honourable but a difficult task to fulfil. 
To assume the often thankless office of soliciting 
frequent favours for friends, without losing the 
consideration necessary to success, requires pecu- 
liar tact, discernment and dignity. Above all, it 
requires disinterested zeal. In attempting this 
delicate duty in the form of letters, we may soon 
dissipate our slender fund of credit. Letters of 
recommendation resemble a paper currency. They 
are redeemed in specie so long as they are issued 
discreetly, and in small amounts, but which be- 
come worse than blank paper, as soon as we 
multiply them too far. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 181 

Such is the intrinsic attraction of beneficence, 
that even if we refuse to practise it, we still love 
whatever retraces its image. A romance affects us. 
Touching events soften our hearts. In thus em- 
bracing the shadow, we pay a sublime testimonial 
to the substance. 

The example of beneficence so readily finds its 
way to every heart, that we are affected even in 
thinking of those who practise it. The coldest 
hearts pay a tribute of veneration to those women, 
who, in consecrating themselves to the service of 
the poor and the sick, encounter extreme fatigue, 
disgust, and often abuse from the wretched objects 
themselves, in the squalidness and filth of prisons 
and hospitals. How beautiful to learn to put forth 
patience to mitigate the maladies of the body, and 
hope, to soothe those of the mind ! Ye who prac- 
tise virtues thus touching and sublime, from motives 
of love to the great Author of all good, may well 
hope for the approbation of heaven. Ye seem to 
have passed in light across our dark sphere, only 
to fulfil a transient and celestial mission, to return 
again to the celestial country. 



CHAPTER XVIII, 



THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 

In the savage the intellectual faculties sleep. As 
soon as his appetites are satisfied, he sees neither 
pleasures to desire, nor pains to fear. He lies 
down and sleeps again. This negative happiness 
would bring desolation to the heart of a civilized 
man. All his faculties have commenced their 
development. He experiences a new craving, which 
occupations, grave or futile, but rapidly changed 
and renewed, can alone appease. If there occur 
between them intervals which can be filled neither 
by remembrances, nor by necessary repose, lassi- 
tude intervenes, and measures for him the length 
of these chasms in life by sadness. 

The next enemy to happiness, after vice, is 
ennui. Some escape it without much seeming cal- 
culation. My neighbour every morning turns over 



THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 183 

twenty gazettes, the state articles of which are 
copied, the one from the other. Economizing the 
pleasure of this reading, and gravely reposing in 
the intervals, he communicates, sometimes with an 
oracular tone, sometimes with a modest reserve, 
his reflections to those who surround him ; and, at 
length leaves the reading-room with the impor- 
tance of one who feels that he has discharged a 
debt to society. 

In public places, it is not the spectacles, but the 
emotions of the common people who behold 
them, that are worthy of contemplation. In the 
murder of a poor tragedy by wretched actors, what 
transports from this enthusiastic mass of the audi- 
ence, when a blow of the poniard, preceded by a 
pompous maxim, lays the tyrant of the piece low ! 
What earnest feeling ! what sincere tears do we 
witness ! How much more worthy of envy these 
honest people, who lose their enjoyment neither by 
the revolting improbability of the situations, nor 
by the absurdity of the dialogue, nor by the mouth- 
ing of the rehearsal, than those fastidious critics 
who exalt their intellectual pride at the expense of 
these cheap enjoyments ! 

From the moment in which a man feels sincere 
pleasure in cultivating his understanding, he may 
date defiance to the fear of the weight of time. 
He has the magic key which unlocks the exhaust- 



184 THE PLEASURES OF 

less treasury of enjoyments. He lives in the age 
and country which he prefers. Space and time are 
no longer obstacles to his happiness. He inter- 
rogates the wise and good of all ages and all 
countries ; and his conversations with them cease, 
or change their object, as soon as he chooses. 
How much gratitude does he owe the author of 
nature, for having impressed on genius so many 
different impulses ! With Plato, he is among the 
sages of Greece, hearing their lessons, and associ- 
ating his wishes with theirs for the happiness of 
his kind. In the range of history, he ascends to 
the infancy of empires and time. 

If a man has powers and acquirements, it is a 
great evil, if he is disposed to fatigue others with 
his self-love. If we could number all the subjects 
of which the most accomplished scholar is igno- 
rant, we should perceive that the interval between 
him and a common person is not so immense as he 
may imagine. Ought he to be astonished if the 
real friends of the Muses tire of his declamations, 
his recitations, and occupancy with himself ? 

To attain truth should be the real end of all 
study. In such researches, the mind kindles, as 
by enchantment, at every step ! The desire to 
succeed produces that noble emotion which is al- 
ways developed by ardent zeal and pure intentions. 
Success, although we were to think nothing of its 



THE UNDERSTANDING. 185 

results, inspires a kind of pleasure ; because truth 
comports with our understanding, as brilliant and 
soft colours agree with the eye, or pleasant sounds 
with the ear. This enjoyment naturally associates 
with another still more vivid. The effect of truth 
is universally salutary ; and every instance in which 
our feeble intellect discovers some gleams, elevates 
the spirit, and penetrates it with a high degree of 
happiness. 

One of the chief advantages of study is, that it 
enfranchises the mind from those prejudices that 
disturb life. How many, and what agonizing 
torments have been caused by those which are 
associated with false ideas of religion. After those 
great calamities in the dark ages which destroyed 
the traces of the sciences and arts, men, pursued 
by terror, seemed to imagine that they constantly 
saw malevolent spirits flying among the clouds, or 
Wandering in the depth of woods. The sound of 
strong wind and thunder came to their ear as the 
voice of infernal divinities ; and, prostrate with 
terror, they sought to appease their angry gods by 
bloody sacrifices. In process of time, a small 
number of men, enlightened by observation, dared 
to raise the veil by degrees, and succeeded in dis- 
sipating these terrors, by tracing the seeming 
prodigies to some of the simplest laws of physics. 
The phantoms of superstition vanished, and, in the 



186 THE PLEASURES OF 

light of reason, revealed a just and beneficent Di- 
vinity presiding over obedient nature. 

We think, in our pride, that an immense interval 
separates us from those times of disaster, ignorance 
and alarm. How many of our kind, unhappy by 
their intellectual weakness, still tremble before the 
jealous and implacable god of their imaginations. 
The man who is exempt from prejudices is alone 
capable of prostrating himself before the Divinity 
from a feeling of love, and whose prayer, alike 
confident and resigned, is addressed to his noble 
attributes of power, justice, and clemency. Every 
rational mind must finally settle to repose in that 
glorious persuasion, which instantly irradiates the 
moral universe with perennial sunshine. "The 
Lord reigneth ; let the earth rejoice." In this or 
any other world, in our present or any other forms 
of conscious being, we may advance upon the 
unexplored scenes with a full confidence that we 
can never travel beyond the beneficence and mercy 
of the infinite mind. 

There are other errors which study dispels. The 
student who is charmed by converse with the 
muses, does not consume his best years in gloomy 
intrigues ; nor do you meet him pressing forward 
in the path which ambition has traced. The 
Greeks, fertile in significant allegories, supposed 
the same divinity to preside over the sciences and 
wisdom. 



THE UNDERSTANDING. 187 

The habit of living in converse with the noblest 
works of mind and art, produces elevation of 
soul ; and he who has an elevated mind is likely 
to be good and happy. Exempt, in some happy 
measure, from the weaknesses of vanity, and free 
from the tumultuous passions, he cultivates the 
noble and generous virtues for the pleasure of 
practising them. Disdaining a mass of objects 
of desire which disturb the vulgar, he offers a small 
mark to misery. Should adversity strike him, he 
has resources so much the more sure, as he finds 
them in himself. 

No one can ever taste the full charm of letters 
and the arts, except in the bosom of retirement. 
If he reads and meditates only for the pursuit of 
fame, amusements change to labours. If we pro- 
pose to enter the lists, outstrip rivals, and direct 
a party, we are soon agitated with little passions, 
but great inquietudes. Heaven, sternly decreeing, 
that no earthly felicity shall be unalloyed, has 
placed a thirst for celebrity as a drawback upon 
the love of study. 

But ought the ardour to render permanent ser- 
vices to our fellow- creatures, to be suppressed ? 
Are not these the source of pleasures as pure as 
they are ravishing ? I contemplate an immense 
and indestructible republic, composed of all those 
men who devote themselves to the happiness of 



188 THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 

their kind. Occupied without relaxation or abate- 
ment in continuing the works which their pre- 
decessors have begun, they bequeath to their suc- 
cessors the care of pursuing and crowning their 
labours. Men of genius are the chiefs of this 
republic. As they have talents which separate 
them from the rest of the human race, they have 
also pleasures reserved for themselves alone. What 
a sublime sentiment must have elevated the spirit 
of Newton, when a part of the mysterious laws of 
the universe first dawned on his mind ! A glow 
still more delightful must have pervaded the bosom 
of Fenelon, when meditating the most beautiful 
lessons which wisdom ever announced to the pow- 
erful, and the rulers of the people. To these 
privileged beings it belongs, to give a noble im- 
pulse to minds, and to trace a new path for the 
generation to come. 

I shall have attained my humble ambition if I 
shall be able, in any degree, to indicate the way in 
which these lessons may be carried out into life. 
I shall thus have contributed my aid to dissipate 
the night of prejudice and vice. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 

All our pleasures are fugitive, but they are all, in 
some measure, real. That wonderful faculty, the 
imagination, awakens past enjoyments, charms the 
instant that is transpiring, and either veils the 
future, or embellishes it in the radiance of hope. 

Let us banish that vulgar prejudice which repre- 
sents reason and imagination as two enemies 
which cannot exist together. The severest reason 
ought not to disdain any pure gratification. The 
happy paintings even of a dream bring joy, until 
their rainbow hues melt away. The dreams of the 
imagination have greatly the advantage over those 
of sleep. Our will gives them birth. We prolong, 
dissipate, and renew them at pleasure. All, who 
have learned to multiply these happy moments, 



190 THE PLEASURES OF 

know, at the same time, how to enjoy these agree- 
able visions, and paint with enchantment those 
dreamy hours which they owe to the effervescence 
of a gay imagination. 

There are situations in which reason has no 
better counsel to give us than to yield ourselves up 
to those illusions which mingle pleasures with our 
sufferings. I knew a worthy, but unfortunate 
man, who passed twenty months in prison. He 
informed me, that he not unfrequently dreamed 
that his wife and children visited him and restored 
him to liberty. This dream left a remembrance so 
profound, an emotion so delightful, that he deter- 
mined to attempt to renew it by day. When 
evening came, exciting his imagination to its most 
vigorous action, he endeavoured to persuade him- 
self that the moment of the re-union was come. 
He represented to himself the transports of his 
wife and the caresses of his children ; and he al- 
lowed no thought but these delightful visions to 
occupy his mind until the moment when sleep once 
more wrapped him in forgetfulness. The habit of 
concentrating his imagination for this result, he 
assured me, finally rendered these illusions incredi- 
bly vivid and real. He expected night with impa- 
tience ; and the certainty that the close of May 
would bring some happy moments, threw over the 
tedious hours an emotion which mitigated his 
sufferings . 



THE IMAGINATION. 191 

These charming illusions, in 'misfortune, resemble 
those brilliant northern lights, which, in the midst 
of a night that lasts for weeks, present the image 
of dawn during the dreary winters of the polar 
circle. An excitable and vivid faculty, which de- 
ceives misfortune, ought to embellish happiness. 
To the pleasant things we possess, it adds those 
we desire. By its magic, we renew the hours of 
which the memory is dear. We taste the pleasures 
which a distant future promises ; and see, at least, 
the fleeting shadow of those which are passing 
away. 

A gloomy philosopher has told us, that such 
illusions are the effect of a transient insanity. It 
seems to me, on the contrary, that insane thoughts 
are those which create ennui ; and that rational 
ideas are those which throw innocent charms over 
life. Why should the morose being, who perceives 
only bad people on the earth, and only miseries in 
the future, blame him who cradles nattering hopes 
of enjoyment, always springing up anew, for allow- 
ing himself to be beguiled by the illusions of his 
imagination ? Both deceive themselves. But the 
one cherishes a mistake which brings hatred and 
suffering, and the other lives on gaily in his 
illusions. 

Wisdom does not disdain a faculty merely for 
being brilliant ; and, to taste all the pleasures of 



192 THE PLEASURES OF 

imagination, it is indispensable that reason should 
he much exercised. 

Imagination resembles the magician of an oriental 
romance who transports his favourite hero to scenes 
of enchantment, to try him with pleasures ; and 
then delivers him over to a hostile magician, who 
multiplies peril and misery around him. This cre- 
ative faculty, in its perversion, is as fertile to 
invent torments as, in its more propitious moods, 
to bring forth pleasures. If once we resign our- 
selves to its gloomy caprices, it conjures up the 
terror of a thousand unreal evils. Reason cannot 
always follow its meteor path ; but ought, at least 
to point out the course in which happiness invites 
it to walk. 

The aid of reason is still more necessary at the 
moment when the chimeras of imagination disap- 
pear. It is an afflicting moment. Reason should 
prepare us to meet it. Every man, with an 
elevated mind and a kind heart, has delighted to 
imagine himself far away from the ignorant and 
wicked ; in a smiling country, separated from the 
rest of the world, and alone with a few friends. 
Suppose this dream realized ; I am aware that 
to-morrow, the peaceful exile might be indulging 
regrets for the place he had left; and forming 
plans to escape from the ennui of the new country. 
Since we change our destiny in these respects, 



::-:: nation. 193 

without altering our instinct: of char._ 

let us study the art of softening the pains of our 
actual condition; and let us learn to extract all 
possible advantages from it by imparting to i: . if 
nothing more, the embellishment created by the 
happy anticipations of a fertile imagination. 

Ought we to indulge regrets becat-T Obese 
paintings of the imagination so rapidly disappear ? 
I have seen the rich and the great stripped, in a 
moment, of their fortune and powex shall I 

arhht my 5 el: beeerise 127 ire-en lis vanishei: 
These unfortunate people lost afl that was dear to 
them, for ever. Forme, I can renew t"r_ese tlea- 
sures of imagination at my will. 

A thousand external cirainistances, which it 
wculi reitnre & "ihime :: ennnierste. nee-: :::: 
with 3 string excite.: ili tr hi the hhysiifh end men- 
tal frame, to impart b : : g : s action to 
the hner/rnet: :r_. Viltm ezhrnie:.. :::.-.: e_:s ninse 
was most propitious in :he spring 1 . As fai is I 
::-n ;n ire. the se?.s:n :: ret r: iuct: :n :-.::. i :he :--■■}. - 
kenin.r c: the slnzhierhir. r ewers :: nettere. in ;he 
aroma and brilliancy of vegetation and flowers, acts 
too voluptuously on the senses, to give the highest 
and best direction to the imagination. The Indian 
summer days of autumn, with the associated repose 
of nature, the broad and crimson disk of the sun 
enthroned in the dome of a misty sky, the clouds 



194 THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 

sleeping in the firmament, the gorgeous colouring 
of the forests, the flashing fall of the first leaves, 
and the not unpleasing sadness of the images, 
called up by the imperceptible decay of nature, and 
the stealthy approach of winter, seem to me most 
favourable to heavenly musing. A cloudless 
morning, a beautiful sun, the glittering brightness 
of the dew drops, the renovated freshness of na- 
ture, morning sounds, the mists rolling away from 
the path of the sun, a bland south-west breeze, 
good health, self-satisfaction, the recent reception 
of good news, and the right train of circumstances, 
all concur to put this faculty into its happiest 
action. 

Far from sacrificing any of our faculties, let us 
exercise them all ; and let them mutually conduce 
to our happiness. As we advance in life, our 
reason should grow to the calm of mature age. 
But let the imagination and the heart still preserve 
scintillations of the fire of vouth. 



CHAPTER XX. 



MELANCHOLY. 

There is no pleasure of earth but, as soon as it 
becomes vivid, has a tendency to tinge itself with 
melancholy. The birth of an infant, the convales- 
cence of a father, the return of a friend who has 
been long absent, fill the eyes with tears. Nature 
has thus chosen to mingle the colours of joy and 
sadness. Having destined us to experience each 
of the emotions in turn, she has ordained that the 
shades of transition should melt into each other. 

The dearest remembrances are those which are 
accompanied by tenderness of heart. The sports 
of infancy, the first loves, the perils we have for 
ever escaped, and the faults we have learned to 
repair, are of the number. Whoever will recollect 



196 MELANCHOLY. 

the happiest moments of his life, will find them to 
have produced this emotion. 

Modern imagination has painted melancholy as 
a tall and unearthly spectre, enveloped in a winding 
sheet. There is, however, a pensiveness, akin to 
her, the real traits of whose countenance are those 
of innocence, occupied in pleasant reverie : and 
whilst tears are in her eyes, a smile dwells on 
her lips. 

It is the resort of a sterile imagination, and a 
cold heart, to invest even the tomb with borrowed 
ideas of darkness ; to wait for night in which to 
visit it ; and to torment the fancy to people it with 
dreadful phantoms. Real sensibility would not 
require such an effort to be awakened. It fills my 
mind with a pleasing sadness to wander in the 
burial-ground, under the soft radiance of the moon, 
among monuments of white marble, and hear the 
night-breeze sigh among the weeping willows. I 
am deeply affected with, here and there, a touching 
inscription. I remember one in which a father 
says, that he has had H\e children, and that here 
sleeps the last of them. In another, a father and 
mother announce that their daughter died at 
seventeen, a victim of then weak indulgence, and 
of the extravagant modes of the time. This so- 
journ of repose, with the words written in these 



MELANCHOLY. 197 

abodes of silence, inspire tenderness for those who 
are no more, as well as for those whose treasured 
affection still recollects them; penetrating the soul 
with emotions not without their charms. In the 
view of tombs, we immediately direct our thoughts 
to an internal survey of ourselves. I mark out my 
place among the peaceful mansions. I imagine 
the vernal grass and flowers reviving over my place 
of rest. My imagination transports me to the 
days which I shall not see, and sounds for me the 
soothing dirge of the adieus of friendship pro- 
nounced over the spot where I am laid. 

A throng of remembrances and anticipations, 
naturally crowd upon the spirit of a person in such 
a place. Youth with its rainbows, and its loves ; 
mature age with its ambitious projects ; old age in 
the midst of children, death in the natal spot, or 
the house of the stranger ; eternity with its dim 
and illimitable mysteriousness ; these shadowy 
images, with their associated thoughts, pass 
through the mind, and return like the guests at an 
inn. While I look up towards the rolling clouds, 
and the sun walking his unvarying path along the 
firmament, how natural the reflection, that they 
will present the same aspect, and suggest the same 
reflections, that the trees will stand forth in their 
foliage, and the hills in their verdure, to him who 



198 MELANCHOLY. 

comes after me, when I shall have taken my place 
with the unconscious sleepers about me ! I never 
fail, on such occasions, to recollect the charming 
reflections in a number of the Spectator, that treats 
upon a visit to Westminster Abbey, the most im- 
pressive writing of the kind, as it seems to me, in 
our language. 

I generally carry from my sojourn in these our 
last mansions, one painful sentiment. I remark 
that many tombs are raised by parents for their 
children ; by husbands for their wives ; by widows 
for their husbands. I observe that there are but 
few erected by children for their fathers. Perhaps 
it is right that love should ascend in that scale, 
rather than descend in the other. 

Occasional visits to ruins and tombs inspire a 
salutary pensiveness. But the habit of frequently 
contemplating these melancholy objects is danger- 
ous. It blunts sensibility and creates the necessity 
of always requiring strong emotions. It nourishes 
in the soul sombre ideas which do not associate 
with happiness. Without doubt, there are those 
who are so unhappy as to long for the repose of 
the grave ; who find solace in these gloomy spec- 
tacles. Young, after having lost his only daugh- 
ter, after having in vain solicited a little consecra- 
ted earth to cover the remains of the youthful 



MELANCHOLY. 199 

victim ; after being reduced to the necessity of 
interring the loved one with his own hands, might 
be tempted to fly his kind and love only night, 
solitude, and tombs. There have been men, con- 
demned by the award of nature, to such reverses 
as nourish an incurable and perpetual melancholy. 
Their frigid imitators, without their reason and 
profound feeling, in wishing to render themselves 
singular, become tiresome and ridiculous in their 
melancholy. 

Writers of the most splendid genius of the age, 
have consecrated their talents to celebrate melan- 
choly ; not that melancholy which has a smile of 
profound sensibility, but that which has been 
cradled in tombs, and which holds out to us the 
full draught of sadness. There is something in 
these heart-rending scenes, these mournful specta- 
cles, which the age seeks with avidity. A writer, 
whose talent tends to render his errors seducing, 
has taken pleasure in viewing the Christian religion 
as opening an inexhaustible source of agreeable 
pensiveness. My opinion in regard to the legiti- 
mate tendency of true piety is, that it must produce 
tranquillity, confidence, and joy. It is a departure 
from true religion, which is followed by a vague 
sadness, gloom, and despondency. 

Were it true, that the Christian religion inspired 
an insatiate craving for gloomy reveries, far from 



200 MELANCHOLY. 

considering it as I do, divine, I should estimate it 
as anti- social. The true friends of the Christian 
religion always paint it as it is, more powerful than 
even human misery ; giving clothing to the naked, 
bread to the hungry, an asylum to the sick, a 
peaceful home to the returning prodigal, and a 
mother to the orphan ; wiping away the tears of 
innocence with a celestial hand, and filling the eyes 
of the culpable and contrite with tears of consola- 
tion. Let pious thankfulness and a calm courage., 
w r hich even death cannot shake, environ its modest 
heroes. Let its martyrs be those of charity and 
toleration. Such was the spirit of Erasmus; such, 
of the divine Fenelon ; such of William Penn, and 
a few tolerant lights that have gleamed through 
ages of persecution and darkness. Such are the 
men whose disciples we desire to multiply. Let us 
cease to incorporate melancholy errors, and gloomy 
follies, with the religion of peace, confidence, and 
hope ; eloquence was imparted for a nobler use. 

Religion is the key- stone of the arch of the 
moral universe. It is the fountain of endearing 
friendship ; and on it are founded those sublime 
relations which exist between the visible and the 
invisible world ; those who still sojourn here and- 
those who have become citizens of the country 
beyond us. It is the poesy of existence, the basis 
of all high thought and virtuous feeling ; of chari- 



MELANCHOLY 201 

ties and morals ; and the very tie of social exist- 
ence. Let no person claim to be virtuous, while 
laying an unhallowed hand upon this ark of the 
covenant of the Eternal with the children of sorrow 
and death. 



CHAPTER XXL 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

The philosophy of happiness must find its ultimate 
requisite in the hopes of religion. Man must be 
persuaded that his present life has relation to a 
never- ending 1 futurity, and that a gracious Provi- 
dence watches over the universe, before he will 
abandon himself with a tranquil confidence to those 
irresistible laws by which he is borne along. He 
then marches towards the future, as he would 
confidently follow a guide of tried prudence and 
fidelity in a dark path. 

In the fever and tumult of worldly pleasures and 
pursuits, the voice of wisdom has little chance to 
be heard, and it seems necessary that trouble should 
force the mind in upon itself, before we become 
inclined to seek our consolation in religion. Then 
we invoke this sublime and consoling power, and 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 203 

like the friend that avoids our prosperity and our 
festivals, but returns to cheer our misfortunes, this 
celestial friend is at hand to offer her sustaining 
succour. We may class all those pleasures as 
unworthy of the name, which will not harmonize 
with this august visitant. Even in our periods of 
happiness, if we pause for the reflection of a mo- 
ment, we find the need of immortality to support 
and comfort us in this vale of tears, and to satisfy 
our infinite desires. All the generous and tender 
affections acquire a new charm in alliance with 
religious ideas, in the same manner as objects, 
beautiful in themselves, receive a new lustre when 
a pure light is thrown upon them. Filial piety 
becomes more touching in those children who pray 
with fervour for the preservation of the life of a 
mother. Let a pious courage guide the sister of 
charity, and she becomes the angel of consolation, 
as she visits the abodes of misery. Even virtue 
itself does not receive its celestial impress, except 
in alliance with religious sentiments. A few of the 
higher philosophers among the noble ancients, and 
Fenelon, Newton, Milton, and a few other men of 
immortal name, saw the Divinity as he is, and 
contemplated the perfect model of his infinite per- 
fections. Their efforts tended to co-operate with 
the divine views of order and harmony, in con- 
stantly directing human actions and thoughts to- 



204 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

wards the supreme good. The beautiful system of 
the Gospel has the same simplicity of object ; and 
its tendency to honour and meliorate humanity is 
directed by the highest wisdom. Its noble senti- 
ments give to all our faculties a beneficent direc- 
tion, and fertilize genius, as well as invigorate our 
virtue. High models, in any walk of mind, will 
never be produced in a world whose inhabitants 
believe in nothing but matter, fortuitous combina- 
tions, and the annihilation of our being. Apostles 
of atheism ! your dreary creed throws an impene- 
trable gloom upon the universe, and dries the 
source of all elevated thought. The advocates of 
these views vaunt the necessity of proclaiming the 
truth ; but the very best of them inculcate only a 
very small part of it : I, too, am the fearless 
advocate of the truth, and have no dread of its 
results. But could I be persuaded, that religious 
hopes were unfounded, I should be tempted to 
renounce my confidence in truth itself; and no 
longer to inculcate the necessity of loving and 
seeking to propogate it. It is by the light of this 
divine torch that real sages have desired to inves- 
tigate religion. Were it possible that the elevated 
and consoling ideas, which religion offers, could be 
baseless and absurd chimeras, error and truth 
would be so confounded, that there would no 
longer remain any discriminating sign, by which to 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 205 

distinguish the one from the other. Infidels boast 
that they are the only frank and hardy antagonists 
of superstition. They are its most effectual al- 
lies. The superstitious have brought forth the 
unbelievers, and these have reproduced the super- 
stitious ; as, in revolutions, resistance produces 
fury, and that multiplies resistance. 

I have known some interesting persons, appa- 
rently earnest and docile enquirers for truth, who 
have desired in vain to establish in their mind 
these consolotary convictions. Their understand- 
ing did not immediately respond to the wishes of 
their hearts. 

Why can I not impart this happy conviction to 
their understanding ? My arguments are very 
simple ; but I think with Bacon, that it needs 
quite as much credulity to adopt the opinion of 
infidels, as to yield faith to all the reveries of the 
Talmud or the Koran. The more profoundly I 
attempt to investigate the doctrines of infidelity, 
and consider every thing that surrounds me, as 
resulting from the combinations of chance, the play 
of atoms, the efforts of dead matter, the more my 
enquiries are involved in darkness. I strive in 
vain to give to any hypothesis of unbelief the 
honest semblance of probability. Matter cannot 
reflect upon the order which its different parts 



206 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

require. Neither can those parts interchange reason 
and discussion. Neither an atom, nor a globe can 
say to others of their class, " Such are the courses 
in which we must move." Let us simplify difficul- 
ties as much as possible, and admit that matter has 
always existed ; let us even suppose motion essen- 
tial to it ; a supreme intelligence is none the less 
necessary to the harmony of the universe. With- 
out a governor of worlds, I can only conceive of 
nihility or chaos. 

From this sublime thought, that there is a good, 
a holy, and yet a gracious God, flows all the truths 
which my heart desires. The beautiful super- 
structure of Christianity results, as a corollary, or 
ultimate inference, from this consolatory axiom. 
The system which rejects the soul's immortality, 
is equally absurd with that of atheism. Of the 
different arguments against the being of a God, 
the most striking one is that which is drawn from 
the evils which prevail on the earth. The first 
thought of every man of sensibility is, that, had he 
the power to make a world, he would banish 
misery from it, and so arrange the order of things, 
as that existence should be, to all conscious beings, 
a succession of moments each marked by happi- 
ness. But infirmities, vices, misery, sorrow, and 
death, pursue us. How can we reconcile the 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 207 

misery of the creation with the power and benefi- 
cence of the Creator ? How resolve this strange 
problem ? How explain this revolting contradic- 
tion ? Immortality is the only solution of the 
enigma of life. 

A whimsical combination of deism and material- 
ism forms, at present, the most widely diffused 
system among unbelievers. They have imagined a 
God possessing only physical power, and contem- 
plating the movement of his innumerable worlds, 
alike indifferent to crime and virtue. He beholds 
with the same carelessness the generations that 
pass, and those that succeed ; and sees deliverers 
and tyrants alike confounded in their fall. Admit 
the truth of such dogmas, and the conceptions of 
a religious man would possess more expansion and 
sublimity than the views of the Eternal. Socrates, 
without the illumination of the gospel, could have 
taught them better, Surrounded by his weeping 
disciples, he points them beyond the tomb to the 
places where the sage at last respires freely ; and 
where the misfortunes and inequalities of earth are 
redressed. In painting these illusions of hope, if 
they are vain, the sage has conceived in his dreams 
an equity superior to that of the Infinite Being. 
Let us dare to maintain that the feeble chil- 
dren of clay have a right to entertain ideas of 



208 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

order and desert, more just than those of the 
Creator, or admit that the spirit of man, made 
capable of another and a nobler life, is destined 
to enjoy it. 

The destiny of all the inferior orders that sur- 
round us, appears to terminate upon the earth. 
Ours alone is evidently not accomplished here. 
The animals, exempt from vice, incapable of virtue, 
experience, in ceasing to live, neither hopes nor 
regrets. They die without the foresight of death. 
Man, in the course of an agitated life, degrades 
himself by follies and vices, or honours himself by 
generous and useful actions. Remembrances, loves, 
ties, in countless forms, twine about his heart. 
He is torn, in agony, from beings for whom he 
has commenced an affection that he feels might 
be eternal. Persecuted for his virtue, proscribed 
for his wisdom and courage, calumniated for his 
most conscientious acts, he turns to heaven a fixed 
look of confidence and hope. Has he nothing to 
perform beyond death ? Has the author of nature 
forgotten his justice, only in completing his most 
perfect work ? 

Our immortality is a necessary consequence of 
the existence of God. Let us not wander astray 
in vain discussions, which, with our present facul- 
ties, we can never master, such as relate to the 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 209 

nature of the soul. My hopes, my convictions, 
rest not upon a cloudy, metaphysical argument. 
Neither can the proud treatise of a sophist weaken, 
nor the puerile dialectics of a pedant increase it. 
It is enough for me that there is a God. Virtue in 
misfortune must have hopes which do not termi- 
nate with the tomb. 

Is man free ? We can reduce this question 
which has been so much agitated, and so often 
obscured, to terms of entire simplicity. It has 
been most forcibly presented by Hobbes, the vile 
apostle at once of atheism and despotism, who 
seems to have striven to unite the most pernicious 
doctrines with an example, which merits execra- 
tion. " Two objects/ ! he remarks, " attract us in 
opposite directions. As long as they produce 
impressions nearly equal, our mind, in a state of 
uncertainty, vacillates from the one to the other ; 
and we believe that we are deliberating. Finally, 
one of the objects strikes us with a stronger im- 
pression than the other. We are drawn towards 
it ; and we believe that it is because we will it. 
Thus man, always passive, yields to the strongest 
and most vivid sensation. Free actions would be 
an effect without a cause." Admirable reasoning ! 
What other freedom could I wish, than to prefer 
what seems to me most desirable ? Let the disci- 



210 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

pies of Hobbes instruct me how they would choose 
that man should determine, in order to be consci- 
ous of liberty ? Would they wish him to choose 
the object that is repugnant to him ? This is too 
evidently absurd. Should he vacillate in indifference 
between the one object and the other ? This would 
be to sink into an existence of perfect apathy, with- 
out reason or will. Man has all the liberty of 
which such a being is capable, all, in fact, which 
he could desire. 

How puerile are these metaphysical subtleties, 
when employed upon moral truths ! What a 
monster would man become on the system of the 
fatalist ! What is that system worth, the conse- 
quences of which cannot be admitted ? If we act 
under the inevitable empire of fatalism, why is he 
who proclaims this doctrine, indignant at the 
thought of crime ? Does he contemplate Socrates 
and his executioners with the same approbation ? 
Will he regard with the same feeling Antoninus 
dictating pious lessons to his son, and Nero assas- 
sinating his mother ? Will he estimate as alike 
meritorious a persecuted Christian praying for his 
enemies, and the monarch ordering the massacre of 
St. Bartholomew ? Do such contrasts offend us ? 
And why ? According to the system of fatalism, 
the good ought to inspire us with less interest than 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 211 

the wicked. A blind fatality awards to the vir- 
tuous that pure pleasure that is inseparably con- 
nected with good actions. They receive a high 
reward without any merit ; while the others are a 
prey to remorse, and the incessant object of public 
hatred and abhorrence. If they are innocent, as 
on the principles of fatalism they must be, how 
ought we to mourn over them, and pity them ! 
What purpose can these doctrines serve ? He 
who advocates them, is conscious of impulses to do 
good, and deliberates upon alternatives in the 
courses which honour and duty' call him to pursue. 
His principles, then, are contradicted by the voice 
of his own heart. When he has committed a fault, 
it declares to him that he might have chosen a 
contrary part. When he has done a virtuous ac- 
tion, it inspires emotions of joy, which render him 
conscious that he is a free agent. This voice 
within is anterior to all reasoning, and as incapable 
of being invalidated as any other consciousness. 
Inexhaustible emotions of satisfaction spring from 
religious hopes. Reanimated by them, I no longer 
see tears without consolation, nor fear an eternal 
adieu to those I love. The tomb, though a fearful, 
is but a frail barrier, which separates us from those 
real joys, of which the pleasures of a fugitive 
existence are but the shadow. 



212 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

One prejudice which has greatly injured religion 
is intolerance, or that spirit which causes us to 
view all persons guilty, whose faith is different 
from ours. While religion enjoins it upon us to 
cover the faults of our kind with a veil of indul- 
gence, intolerance teaches us to transform their 
opinions into crimes. Religion rears asylums for 
the unfortunate. Intolerance prepares scaffolds 
for all whom she chooses to denominate heretics. 
The one invokes ministers of charity, and the other 
executioners. The one wipes away tears, and the 
other sheds the blood of its victims. 

Intolerance without power is simply ridiculous ; 
but becomes most odious when armed with autho- 
rity. The cry of humanity and of religion is, 
" Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace ; 
good- will to men !" If any were excepted, it 
should be the intolerant. Even they merit no 
severer punishment than the inflictions of their own 
fury. They may attain to deliverance from re- 
morse in their confident delirium, and may count 
their crimes as virtues, through the influence of 
self-blindness. But this strange obliquity of the 
understanding, this horrible intoxication, repels 
happiness. Joy and peace must fly the soul of 
which this spirit has taken possession. 

Open the gospels and the epistles, and what is 



RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 213 

the first impression from perusing these unique and 
original writings, so wholly unlike any other re- 
corded compositions, and bearing upon a theme 
of such astonishing import ? The simplicity and 
fervour with which the spirit of love is impressed 
upon the pages ; the strong, and before unwit- 
nessed, manifestation of this spirit, was the striking 
aspect which the first Christians presented to 
pagan beholders ; " See S" said they, " how 
these Christians love one another. 5 ' Every time I 
peruse the writings of the New Testament, this 
peculiar badge of discipleship seems more visibly 
impressed upon them. In what other chronicles 
do we meet with such affecting and sublime exam- 
ples of devotion to each other, and such a constancy 
of affection as showed itself proof against all other 
human passions, selfishness, hope, fear, earthly 
love, and the terror of death r What tenderness 
and singleness of heart in their affection for each 
other, do we see in the primitive Christians ! How 
beautifully they demonstrate that the sentiment 
which actuated them, had gained a complete tri- 
umph over all considerations, arising from objects 
below the sun ! He, on whose bosom the loved 
disciple leaned, must certainly be admitted to know 
the peculiar and distinguishing feature of his reli- 
gion. This feature stands forth embodied in all 



214 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 

the instructions of the Great Teacher, Philanthropy 
is the predominant trait in the life of him " who 
went about doing good." 

In another life, the measure of our felicity in the 
mansions of the just, will be in proportion to our 
concern for the glory of God, and for the promotion 
of the happiness of our fellow- creatures. A reli- 
gious man constantly strives to render the present 
state as much as possible like the abode towards 
which his thoughts are elevated. His constant 
occupation is to mitigate suffering, banish prejudice 
and hatred, and calm the fury of party. All his 
relations are those of peace and love. 



CHAPTER XXIL 



OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 

In considering the different ages of life, the first 
sentiment I feel, is gratitude for the variety of 
pleasures destined for us by nature. Thrice happy 
for us, if we knew how to taste the charms of all 
the situations through which we pass ! Instead of 
this, we first regret infancy, then youth, then 
mature age. The happy period is always that 
which is no more. 

It is a great folly to sadden the present, in look- 
ing back upon the past, as though it had been 
darkened by no shadow of a cloud. The sorrows 
which nature sends us in infancy resemble spring 
showers, the traces of which are effaced by a 
passing breeze. The pains and alarms of each age 
have been chiefly the work of men. Who cannot 
remember the violent palpitations which he felt, 



216 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 

when exposed to the searching eye of his compan- 
ions, he went forward to excuse his not having 
prepared his task, his translation or theme, at 
school ? I have seen situations more perilous, 
since that time, but no misfortunes have awakened 
more bitterness, than the preference granted by the 
tutor to the theme of another over mine. The 
beautiful age, for a frivolous being is youth ; for 
the ambitious, maturity ; for the recluse, old age ; 
for a reasonable man, each age : for heaven has 
reserved peculiar pleasures for each. 

The second sentiment I experience, in contem- 
plating life, is, regret to see the moments so rapidly 
gliding away. Time flies, and days and years 
steal away as rapidly as hours. Still, some com- 
plain of the burden of time, and endure cruel 
suffering from not knowing how to employ it. 

To prolong my days, I neither ask the elixir of 
life from alchymists, nor precepts from physi- 
cians. A severe regimen tends to abridge life. 
Multiplied privations give a sadness to the spirit, 
more noxious than the prescribed remedies are 
salutary. Besides, what is physical without moral 
life ; that is to say, improvement and enjoyment ? 
Physicians vaunt the miracles of abstinence and 
a careful regimen in the case of Cornaro, the 
Venetian, who was born dying, and yet spun out 
the thread of life with so much care that he 



OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 217 

existed a century. To attain this result, he weighed 
his aliment, and marked every hour of the day, with 
the most minute exactness. Bacon cites the case, 
but jests upon a man who believed himself living, 
because, in fact, he was not dead. 

Moderation, cheerfulness, and the happy employ- 
ment of time, furnish the best means of living as 
many days as nature permits ; and the regimen of 
philosophic moralists has an effect more certain 
than that of physicians. 

Every one has observed, that a year in youth 
presents a long perspective ; and that the further 
we advance in our career, the more the course of 
time seems to accelerate. Let us strive to investi- 
gate the causes which so modify our judgments, 
with a view, if it be possible, to avoid them. 

There is one inevitable cause, experience ; at 
sixteen, what an illimitable prospective space is 
seen in the sixteen years that are to succeed ! 
The termination of the latter period is lost to 
vision in the future, as the commencement of the 
first years are effaced from the memory of the past. 
But, in touching the goal which seemed so distant, 
we have discovered a scale by which the mind's eye 
measures the future. Impatient youth, burning to 
overleap the interval which separates the object 
from their desires, strive to accelerate the tardv 
hours. In mature age, on the contrary, seeing 

H 



218 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 

every day bringing us nearer the termination of 
our career, we begin to regret the want of power 
to arrest the march of time. Thus our weakness 
hastens the flight which we desire to delay. Let 
us be less fearful of the uncertain future, and the 
hours will lose their desolating swiftness. 

Finally, in our youth, all objects being new, 
produce the vivid impression of novelty. Every 
instant is filled with landmarks of memory, because 
in every instant a new sensation is produced, and 
a new link in the chain of the succession of ideas. 
As we advance in time, objects imperceptibly cease 
to excite our curiosity. We pass by beautiful ob- 
jects and striking events, which once filled us with 
transport or surprise, with a carelessness which 
fails to fix them in our memory. We return me- 
chanically to the occupations of the preceding day, 
scarcely noting the transit of those monotonous 
periods which were rendered remarkable neither by 
disgust nor pleasure. Let us avoid this mental 
carelessness, which gives new speed to the flight 
of time, and is so fatal to happiness. Friends of 
humanity, of literature, of the arts, of true enjoy- 
ment, and, above all, of real religion ; let us 
preserve the mind in its freshness, the imagination 
in its youthful brilliancy. Let us thus arrest the 
happy moments ; and let us preserve the enthusi- 
asm of youth enlightened by the taste of mature 
age, for everything which merits our admiration. 



OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 219 

I can confidently affirm, that I have long since 
learned to find some of my purest and most abiding 
satisfactions in the memory of the past. I repeat 
all its happier passages and incidents. I recall the 
bright days, verdant landscapes, loved persons, and 
joyous sensations, from their shadowy mansions. 
I renew my youthful sports ; and watch for the 
trout along the flush spring brooks. I seat myself 
again on the sunny banks of the pleasant spots of 
my career. I would be glad to convey some idea 
of the vivid pleasure I experience, after a lapse of 
forty 7 winters, from the deeply impressed remem- 
brance of one beautiful spring morning, after a 
long and severe winter, when I was still a school- 
boy. The vast masses of snow were beginning to 
melt. The birds of prey, shut up in their retreats 
during the bitter winter, sailed forth in the mild 
clear blue. The birds whistled ; and my heart 
expanded with joy and delight unknown, in the 
same degree, before or since. The place where 
these thoughts, comprising my youthful anticipa- 
tions, hopes and visions, occurred, will never be 
obliterated from my mind while memory holds her 
seat. I have a thousand such treasured recollec- 
tions, with which I can at any time, and to a 
certain extent, cheer pain, sorrow and decay. 
These are enjoyments stored beyond the reach 
of fortune, which we can prolong, and renew at 
pleasure. 



220 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 

If we desire that our days should not be abridged, 
we must love retreat. The immediate result of this 
shelter is to keep off a crowd of officious and indo- 
lent people. There are those who would not think 
of taking our money, and who yet will steal hours 
and days from us without scruple. They seem not 
to realize the value of these fractions of time which 
are the material life. 

But while the idle rob us of hours, we ourselves 
sacrifice years. A great portion of our race, deaf- 
ened by the clamour of the passions, agitated by 
feverish dreams, are scarcely conscious of exist- 
ence ; and, awakening for a moment, at death, 
regret that they have been long on the earth, and 
yet have not lived. A few others, after having 
been long swept onward by the torrent, taught at 
last by experience, resist, land, and fix their so- 
journ far from the tumult; and finally, begin to 
taste the pleasant consciousness of existence. Why 
not prolong these final hours to the utmost ? If 
our pursuits interdict us from the independent 
command of our time, we may, at least, consecrate 
portions of every evening to retreat, in order to 
review the past, pause on the present, and prepare 
for the future. Thus, making every day count in 
accumulating the pleasant stores of memory, we 
add it to the happy days of the past, and no longer 
allow life to vanish like a dream 



OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 221 

It is, more than all, in converse with ourselves, 
that we give a right direction to the mind, eleva- 
tion to the soul, and gentleness and firmness to the 
character. Life is a hook in which we every day 
read a page. We ought to note down every in- 
structive incident that passes. 

The admirable Marcus Aurelius took delight in 
converse with himself; and learned to find enjoy- 
ment in the present by extracting from the past 
lessons for the future. I never fail to be affected 
when I read the account which he gives of all 
those persons whose cares had concurred to form 
his character and his manners. "I learned,' ' savs 
he, " of my grandfather Verus, to be gentle and 
complaisant. The reputation which my father left, 
and the memory of his good actions which has 
been preserved, taught me modesty. My mother 
formed me to piety, taught me to be liberal, and 
not even to meditate, still less to do a wrong. 

" I owe it to my governor that I am patient of 
labour, have but few wants, know how to work 
with my own hands, meddle with no business that 
does not concern me, and give no encouragement 
to informers. 

" Diognetus taught me not to be amused with 
frivolities, to yield no credit to impostors, and to 
have no faith in conjuration and superstition. I 
learned of him to permit every one to speak to me 



222 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 

with entire freedom, and to apply myself wholly to 
philosophy. 

" Rusticus made me perceive that I needed to 
correct my manners, that I ought to avoid the 
pride of the sophists, and not use effort to inspire 
the people with admiration of my patience and 
austerity of life ; to he always ready to pardon 
those who had offended me, and to receive them 
kindly whenever they were disposed to resume 
their former intercourse. 

" I learned of Apollonius to be at the same time 
frank and firm in my designs, to follow no guide 
but my reason, even in the smallest matters, and 
to be always composed, even under the most acute 
sufferings. By his example I was instructed that 
it is possible to be at once severe and gentle. 

" Sextus taught me to govern my house as a 
good father, to preserve a simple gravity without 
affectation, to attempt to divine and anticipate the 
wishes and necessities of my friends ; to endure, 
with calmness and patience, the ignorant and pre- 
sumptuous who speak without thinking w T hat they 
say ; and to sustain relations of kindness with all. 

" I learned from Alexander the grammarian, in 
disputation to use no injurious words in reply to 
my antagonist. 

" Alexander, the Platonist, instructed me to be 
always prompt to render all those good offices 
which the bonds of society demand. 



OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 223 

" I owe to my brother Severus, the love which 
I have for truth and justice. From him I derived 
the desire to govern my states by equal laws, and 
to reign in such a manner as that my subjects 
might possess perfect liberty. 

" I thank the Divinity for having given me 
virtuous ancestors, a good father, a good mother, 
a good sister, good preceptors, and good friends ; 
in a word, all the good things I could have 
desired/' 

A crowd of useful thoughts cannot but flow 
from such self- converse. Hold every day one of 
these solitary conversations with yourself. This is 
the way in which to attain the highest relish of 
existence ; and, if I may so say, to cast anchor in 
the river of life. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



ON DEATH. 



If we were to allow ourselves to express the wish 
that we might never die, an absurd wish, which, 
perhaps, every man has sometimes indulged, a 
moralist might say, " Suppose it were granted, 
where would be the end of dissension, hatred, 
revenge ? Where would the victim whom injustice 
pursues, find an asylum and repose ?" To all this 
it is sufficient to reply, that if we accuse heaven for 
having subjected us to the penalty of death, we 
have not less reason to accuse her for having often 
rendered death desirable, as a relief from greater 
evils. Instead of showing herself so niggardly in 
bestowing happy moments, why did she not spare 
humanity the evils that rendered death a compara- 
tive release ? 



ON DEATH. 225 

There are, as I believe, more solid reasons to 
justify the great Creator in rendering death an 
inevitable allotment. When, undertaking to reform 
the universe in my day-dreams, 1 render our earthly 
existence eternal, I find no difficulty in imagining 
all the evils which affiict us removed. But I strain 
my imagination to no purpose to give form and 
reality to those pleasures which shall be adequate 
to replace those which this new order of things 
cannot admit. Suppose that it were no longer 
necessary that generation should succeed genera- 
tion ; and that death were banished from the earth ; 
the same beings, without hopes or fears, would 
always cover its surface. No more loves; no more 
parental tenderness ; no more filial piety ! Flat- 
tering hopes forsake the bosom along with en- 
chanting remembrances. All those affections 
which give value to life owe their existence to 
death. A wise man sees in life a gift which he 
ought not to sacrifice. In learning how to live, he 
instructs himself how to die. 

We must sometimes look Death in the face to 
judge how we shall be able to sustain his approach. 
It is not necessary often to repeat this stern exam- 
ination, as it presents gloomy ideas, even to the 
most energetic minds. Another manner of con- 
templating the final scene, produces all the useful 



226 ON DEATH. 

results of the first, and presents nothing afflicting. 
It consists in observing the influence which death 
ought to exercise over life. This term, unknown, 
but always near, should render our duties more 
sacred, our affections more tender, our pleasures 
more vivid. In noting the rapidity of the flight of 
time, a wise man seizes upon those ideas which 
disturb the hours of the multitude, to enhance the 
charm of his own thoughts. It was not without 
an aim, that certain of the ancient philosophers 
placed in their festal hall a death's head decked 
with roses. 

Those who say that, in one point of view, death 
is nothing, may be thought to affect the semblance 
of courage. They speak, in fact, only simple truth. 
The term death is the sign of a purely negative 
idea; and denotes an instant impossible for thought 
to measure. It is not yet death, or it is past ; and 
there is no interval. 

Without doubt, the circumstances which precede 
it are extremely afflicting. Sudden deaths ought 
to cost us fewer tears than any others. Yet we 
hear it repeated, with a sigh, " the unfortunate 
sufferer lingered but a few hours." Was not that 
space sufficiently long, when the moments were 
counted by agony ? Let us not tinge our views 
by the colouring of egotism ; and we shall perceive 



ON DEATH. 227 

in this prompt departure, two motives for consola- 
tion ; that the deceased, whom we regret, saw not 
the long approach of death in advance ; and, that, 
in meeting it, he experienced a brief pang. Such 
an end is worthy of envy, and is the last benefit of 
heaven. 

So died my father, the best of fathers, whom 
every one recognized by his force of character, his 
gentleness and serenity. He did not dazzle, either 
by his vivacity of mind, or the variety of his ac- 
quirements. But he so said the simplest things, 
as to render them the best. During sixty-five 
years he shared the pains of others, but never 
added to them. One day, having experienced 
unaccustomed fatigue, he retired early, and a few 
moments after, slept in death. Such a death, 
without pain and alarm, was worthy of a life so 
excellent, that, to render him happy in the life to 
come, it would be only necessary to leave him the 
remembrance of what he had been, and what he 
had done upon earth. 

A fact, recognised by numberless observing 
physicians is, that the last agony of a good man is 
rarely violent. It is probable, that in regard to all 
forms of death, mankind generally entertain the 
most erroneous conceptions. The vulgar, naturally 
embracing ideas that terrify them, believe that the 



228 ON DEATH. 

dissolution of our earthly being is accompanied by 
all conceivable torments. It is probable, on the 
contrary, that, if we are real Christians, in entering 
upon eternal repose, we experience sensations 
analagous to those of a wearied man who feels 
the sweet influence of sleep stealing gently upon 
him. 

These sensations, it is true, can be imagined to 
belong only to the last moments. Cruel maladies 
may precede them. But it would seem that nature 
invariably employs some means to mitigate the 
evils which she inflicts. Among mortal diseases, 
those which are severely painful are equally rapid ; 
while those which are slow in their progress are 
comparatively free from pain. They allow the pa- 
tient time to accustom himself to the idea of his 
departure. It is common for those who die, thus 
to solace themselves alternatelv with resignation 
and hope. 

A spectacle, touching to the heart, and, unhap- 
pily, too common, is presented in the case of a fair 
and florid youth, struck with a pulmonary malady. 
Absolute unconsciousness of danger often accom- 
panies this cruel disease to the last moment. We 
are perfectly aware that the patient cannot survive 
the coming winter. We hear him pantingly discuss 
the projects which he expects to execute with his 



ON DEATH. 229 

companions when health and spring" shall return. 
The contrast of his daily increasing debility with 
his gentle gaiety, and of his future projects, with 
the rapid approach of death, makes the heart bleed. 
Every one is pained for him but himself. The 
hectic fever imparts a kind of joyous inspiration ; 
and nature, to absolve itself for inflicting death on 
one so young, leads him to his last hour in tranquil 
security. Death is to him as a sleep. 

; It is certain, that physical sufferings are not 
those which infuse the utmost bitterness into this 
last cup. The gloomy thoughts with which death 
is invested are excited much more keenly by those 
affections which attach us to earth and our kind. 
We may well hold the understanding of those am- 
bitious persons in disdain who instruct us, that 
when they have finished their vast projects their 
days shall thenceforward glide in peace and se- 
renity. Death uniformly surprises them, tormenting 
themselves in the pursuit of their shadows. 
Others, with less show of stupidity, repine, because 
death strikes them reposing upon their pleasures. 
Their groans are caused by having forgotten the 
rapidity and evanescence of their joys. They 
had not known how to give them an additional 
charm in saying, " We possess them but for a 
day." 



230 ON DEATH. 

But suppose we regret neither ambitious projects 
nor transient pleasures, may we not wish to live 
longer for our children ? I attempt not to incul- 
cate an impracticable or exaggerated system. 
There is a situation in which death is fearful. 
There is a period in which it would seem as if man 
ought not to die. It commences when one has 
become a parent, and terminates when his sus- 
taining hand is no longer indispensable to his 
family. 

If Heaven calls us to quit life before this epoch, 
all consolations resemble the remedies which pal- 
liate the pains of the dying, without possessing 
efficacy to remove them. Still we ought not to 
believe that there can exist a situation in which a 
good man can find no alleviation for his sorrows. 
In quitting a life which he would wish to retain 
longer, for the happiness of those most dear to 
him, he may derive force and magnanimity from 
the thought that he owes it to himself to leave an 
example of courage and decent dignity in the last 
act ; that he may show the influence of piety 7 and 
resignation, and the hope and discipline of that 
religion which forbids its disciple to struggle 
against the inevitable lot. 

The approach of death always brings associations 
of gloom when it comes in advance of old age, to 



ON DEATH. 231 

destroy the tender affections. In the slow and 
natural course of years, it is an event as simple, as 
little to be deprecated, as the other occurrences of 
life. Alas ! during a short sojourn, we see those 
who were most dear continually falling around us. 
We soon retain a less number with us than exist 
already in another world. The family is divided. 
I am not surprised that it becomes a matter of 
indifference to a wise man to remain with his pre- 
sent friends, or to go and rejoin those who are 
gone before him into the invisible state. 

As long as our children have need of our sup- 
port, we resemble a traveller charged with busi- 
ness of extreme importance. As soon as these 
cares become useless, we resemble him who 
travels at leisure and by chance ; and who takes 
up his lodging for the night wherever the setting 
sun surprises him. For me, I see the second 
epoch drawing near. If I reach it, I shall bless 
heaven for having awarded me a sufficient number 
of years, and for having diffused over them so few 
pains. 

Let us not charge that man with weakness who, 
when on the eve of departure for distant and 
untravelled countries, is perceived to impart the 
intonation and tenderness of sorrow to his adieus. 
Ought we to exact more of him whom death is 



232 ON DEATH. 

about to conduct to that undiscovered country, 
" from whose bourne no traveller returns ?" I 
would not seem to affect an austere and unnatural 
courage. But whenever delivered from the only 
heart-rending agony, I will hope and strive to 
preserve sufficient tranquillity of mind to impress 
the sentiment on those I love, that we ought, 
with becoming dignity, to submit ourselves to the 
immutable laws of nature ; that complaint is 
useless and murmuring unjust ; and that it be- 
comes us, with transient but subdued emotion, 
to say, as we receive the final embrace, " May we 
meet again !" 

Fear, absolutely useless, gratuitous fear, pro- 
bably constitutes much the largest proportion 
of the whole mass of human misery ; and of this 
proportion the fear of death is a principal part. 
There are but very few people who, in examining 
the feeling of apprehension most constantly pre- 
sent to their minds, will not find it to be the 
dread of death. The whole observation which I 
have made upon human nature, has only enlight- 
ened me the more as to the universality and extent 
of the influence of this evil. I see it infusing 
bitterness into the bosoms of the young, before 
they are as yet capable of reflection ; and ceasing 
not to inspire its terrors into the heart, which has 



ON DEATH. 233 

experienced the sorrows of fourscore winters. I 
see little difference in the alarm with which it 
darkens the mind of the heir, elate with youthful 
hope, and the galley slave : those apparently the 
most happy, and the tenants of penitentiaries and 
lazar-houses. All cling alike convulsively to life, 
and shudder at the thought of death. 

Part, and perhaps the greater part, of this fear 
is a sad heritage, which has been transmitted 
down to us, through many generations. Our 
education, religious ceremonies, domestic manners, 
in short, all the influences of the present institu- 
tions of society tend to increase this evil. I am 
well aware, at the same time, that the number of 
those, who will admit it to be an evil, is but small. 
Most view it as it has been considered in all 
Christian countries, from time immemorial, as an 
instrument in the hand of God and his servants, 
to awe and restrain the mind, to call it from illu- 
sions and vanities, and reduce it to the seriousness 
and obedience of religion. My hope of producing 
useful impressions is, with the small but growing 
number, (in the next age, I trust it will be a 
majority) who have but little faith in amendment 
and conversion that grows out of the base and 
servile principle of fear, and, least of all, the fear 
of death; who believe that a great reform, a 



234 ON DEATH. 

thorough amelioration of our species, will never be 
effected, until it is made a radical principle of our 
whole discipline, and all our social institutions, to 
bring this servile passion completely under the 
controul of our reason, With these it is a deep 
and fixed conviction, that every thing base, de- 
grading and destructive of intellect and improve- 
ment, readily associates with fear ; and that the 
basis of true religion, of generous conception, of 
high thoughts and really noble character, is firmly 
laid in a young mind, when trained to become 
as destitute of fear, as if it were conscious of 
being a sinless angel, above the reach of pain or 
death. 

It would be to no purpose for me to pause in 
this place, to obviate the strictures of those who 
will denounce this doctrine, by quoting from the 
scriptures the frequent inculcations of the " fear of 
the Lord," and the Apostle's declaration, that by 
the " terrors of the Lord we persuade men." The 
true and religious fear, inculcated in the scriptures, 
not only has no relation to the passion I am dis- 
cussing, but cannot exist any more than the other 
requisite traits of religious character, in a bosom 
swayed by the grovelling and selfish passion 'of 
servile fear. The fear inculcated in the scriptures 
is inseparably connected with reverence and love. 



ON DEATH. 



235 



That nature has implanted in our bosoms an 
instinctive dread of death, I readily admit. But 
fear, as a factitious and unnatural addition to the 
true instincts of human nature, has been so accu- 
mulated by rolling down through a hundred 
generations, that we are in no condition to know 
the degree, in which nature intended we should 
possess it. We have innumerable base propen- 
sities, which we charge upon nature, that are, in 
fact, no more, than the guilty heritage, bequeathed 
us by our ancestors. Nature could have implanted 
no higher degree of instinctive dread of death, 
than just what was requisite, to preserve the race 
from prodigal waste, or rash exposure of a gift, 
which, once lost, is irretrievable. If nature has 
inwrought in any constitution one particle of fear, 
beyond what was required for this result, she has, 
as in all other excessive endowments, granted 
reason and judgment, to regulate, and reduce it 
to its due subordination. 

Will not religion achieve the great triumph of 
casting out the base principle of fear ? I would be 
the last to deny, or undervalue the trophies of true 
religion. I have no doubt that religion has, in 
innumerable instances, extracted the pain and poi- 
son from the sting of death. More than this, it 
would unquestionably produce this triumph in 



236 ON DEATH. 

every case, if every individual were completely 
under the influence of the true principle. It would 
attain this end by processes and discipline exactly 
concurrent, if not similar, with those I am about 
to propose. But it is a lamentable fact, that but 
few comparatively are under the influence of true 
religion. Of those, whom charity deems most 
sincerely pious, some, under all professions and 
forms, exhibit, on the bed of dangerous sickness, 
the same fear of death with the rest. 

The triumph over the fear of death, which I 
would inculcate, should not be tested by the equi- 
vocal deportment of the patient, in the near view 
of death ; but by his own joyous consciousness of 
deliverance from this tormenting bondage, during 
his whole life. Let fear bring what bitterness it 
mav into the last few hours, it can bear but little 
proportion to the long agony of a whole life, 
passed in " bondage through fear of death." To 
produce the desired triumph, the highest training 
of philosophy should concur with the paternal 
spirit, and the immortal hopes of the gospel ; and 
a calm, reasoning, unboasting fearlessness of death 
should enable us to taste all the little of pure and 
innocent joy, that may be found between the cradle 
and the grave as unmolested, as unsprinkled with 
this fear, as if the destroyer were not among the 
works of God. 



ON DEATH. 237 

The terrific and un definable images of horror, 
that imagination affixes to the term death, are 
founded in an entire misconception. The word is 
the sign of no positive idea whatever. It conjures 
up a shadowy horror to the mind, finely delineated, 
as a poetic personage, by Milton ; and implies, 
some agony that is supposed to lie between the 
limits of existence and non-existence, or existence 
in another form. This is simple illusion. So long 
as we feel, death is not ; and when we cease to 
feel, or commence feeling in a changed form, death 
has been. Who can tell where waking conscious- 
ness terminates, and sleep commences ? He can 
tell us, what death is. Every one is conscious of 
having passed through this change ; but no one 
can give any account, what were his sensations in 
the dividing moment of interval between wakeful- 
ness and sleep. 

Imagination is allowed to settle all the circum- 
stances, and form all the associations belonging to 
the supposed agony of this event. It is one of the 
few important incidents in life, upon which reason 
is but seldom allowed to fix a calm and severe 
scrutiny. It is dreadful, says common apprehen- 
sion, for it is the breaking up the long and tender 
partnership, and producing a separation between 
the body and the soul ; dreadful, because it is the 



238 ON DEATH, 

wages of sin, and is appointed to be a perpetual 
memorial of the righteous displeasure of God in 
view of sin ; dreadful, because a departure of the 
spirit from the regions of the living, and the light 
of the sun, into an unknown and eternal state. 
Suns will revolve, moons wax and wane, years, 
revolutions, ages, counted by all the particles of 
mist in the sea, will elapse, but the place, whence 
the spirit is gone, will never know it more. It is 
terrible, says common apprehension, for it is often 
preceded and accompanied by severe pain and con- 
vulsive struggle. 

Then, too, the attendants in the sick-room often 
inspect the extremities of the patient, and petrify 
the bystanders with the words, he is struck with 
death ; as though the grisly phantom king of the 
poet's song had invisibly glided in, and, with his 
icy sceptre, given his victim the blow of mortal 
destiny. Who knows not that, though there are 
usually mortal symptoms, which enable an experi- 
enced eye to foresee approaching dissolution, the 
term " death- struck " imports nothing but the 
weakest vulgar prejudice, a prejudice under the 
influence of which millions have been suffered to 
expire, that might have been roused ! Innumerable 
persons, pronounced to be in that situation, have 
actually recovered ; and no moment, in the ordi- 



ON DEATH. 239 

nary forms of disease, can with any certainty be 
pronounced beyond hope, but that which succeeds 
the last sigh. 

Then there are conversations and hymns and 
funeral odes and Night Thoughts, which speak of 
the coldness, silence and eternal desolation of the 
grave ; as though the unconscious sleeper felt the 
chill of the superincumbent clay, the darkness of 
his narrow house, or this terrible isolation from the 
living. The pale and peaceful corse is contem- 
plated with a look of horror. Two, of stout heart 
and tried friendship, abide near the kneaded clod, 
until the living are relieved from their ghostly 
terrors, by its deposition out of their sight in the 
narrow house. The family, the children, the 
friends alike showing the creeping horror, glide 
quick and silently on tiptoe through the apartment, 
where the sleeper lies. The first nightfall after the 
decease is one of peculiar and unmitigated horror. 
The family, however disinclined to union before, 
this evening unite, with that impress on their 
countenances, which words reach not. 

Need we wonder, that in a Christian country, 
and among families of the best training, such im- 
pressions have become so universal, that they, who 
would be reputed brave, blazon their courage, by 
affirming their readiness to sleep in a cemetry, or 



240 ON DEATH. 

the funeral vault of a church ? It requires no 
extraordinary effort, and nothing more than the 
simple triumph of reason among the faculties, to 
enable any man, to sleep alone in a charnel-house 
with as little dread, as in the apartment of an inn, 
so that the places were alike in comfort and salu- 
brity. It does not require us to be wise, or cou- 
rageous ; but simply not cowards and fools, to 
feel as little horror in the view of corses, as statues 
of plaster or marble, One of the most terrible 
ideas of death, after all, is, that we shall thus, 
immediately upon our decease, inflict this shrink- 
ing revulsion of terror upon all, who look at our 
remains. 

The view, which reason takes of the sick and 
dying bed is, that, in the far greater number of 
mortal cases, the transition from life to death is as 
imperceptible, as the progress of the sun and the 
seasons. One faculty dies after another. The vic- 
tim has received the three warnings unconsciousiv. 
Ordinarily, a person may be said to have paid a 
third part of his tribute of mortality at forty-five ; 
half at fifty-five ; and the whole at three score 
and ten. 

When acute and severe sickness assails the pa- 
tient, he has passed through what may be called 
the agony of death at a very early period of his 



ON DEATH. 241 

disease. His chief suffering is past, as soon as the 
irritability and the vigorous powers of life have 
been broken down. When the disorder produces 
insensibility, the dull sleep, that precedes the final 
rest of the tomb, is already creeping upon the 
patient ; and severe suffering is precluded. If 
there are convulsions after this, as often happens, 
they are seldom more than spasmodic movements, 
impressed by the nervous action upon the tendons, 
more terrible to the beholder, than the sufferer ; 
differing little from those starts and struggles, with 
which many persons in high health commence 
sleeping and waking. 

Reason, calmly surveying the case of the dying 
person himself, sees many alleviations, of which 
imagination, sketching under the influence of the 
dread of death, takes no account. He finds him- 
self, in this new predicament, the absorbing object 
of all interests and of all solicitude and affection. 
It is not in human nature that this should not call 
up complacent emotions, and slumbering affections 
from their secret cells. Of those who preserve the 
exercise of their faculties entire to the last, many 
instances are recorded of persons who had shewn 
the most unmanly dread of death in their health, 
that have met dissolution with the calmness of 
perfect self-possession. Of the rest, a great number 



242 ON DEATH. 

die with little more apparent pain and struggle 
than accompany the act of sleeping. In a great 
number of cases which I have witnessed, I have 
paused in doubt, whether the person had yielded 
his last sigh or not, after he had actually deceased. 
To soften the last infliction, nature almost inva- 
riably veils it under a low delirium, or absolute 
unconsciousness. 

It is impossible to imagine a more obvious and 
unquestionable principle of philosophy, than that 
every reasoning faculty of our nature must declare 
to us, loudly and unequivocally, and with an influ- 
ence as strong as reason can command, that it is 
wisdom, nay, the dictate of the least portion of 
common sense, to dread, to resist, to repine, to 
groan as little as possible, in view of an endurance 
absolutely inevitable. If it be hard to sustain 
when met with a fearless, resigned, and unmur- 
muring spirit, it must certainly be still harder, 
when we are obliged to bend our necks to it with 
the excruciating addition of shrinking fear, dread- 
ful anticipation, and ineffectual struggles to evade 
it, and with murmurs and groans at finding the 
inutility of these efforts. Innumerable examples 
prove to us, that nature has kindly endowed us 
with reason and mental vigour to such an extent, 
that, under the influence of divine aid, and Scrip- 



ON DEATH. 243 

tural principle, no possible form of suffering can 
be presented, over which the good man may 
not manifest, and has not manifested, a complete 
triumph. 

Of these innumerable examples, it is only neces- 
sary to cite those of the martyrs, of all forms of 
religion. These prove farther, that an undaunted 
self-possession in every conceivable shape and de- 
gree of agony, was not the result of a rare and 
peculiar temperament, a want of sensibility, or the 
possession of uncommon physical courage ; that it 
was not because there w T as no perception of danger, 
or susceptibility of pain ; this magnanimity, this 
impassibility to fear and pain and death, has been 
exhibited in nearly equal degrees by people of 
every age, each sex, and all conditions, and arose 
from the sublime hopes inspired by divine revela- 
tion. Let the proper motive be supplied, let the 
martyr have had the common influence of the train- 
ing of his faith, and the consequence failed not. 
All the shades and varieties of natural and mental 
difference of character were noted in the deport- 
ment of the sufferers. But they were alike in the 
stern proof of a courage w T hich defied death. The 
fact is proved by them as strongly as moral fact 
can be proved, that the mind of every individual 
might find in itself, with the blessing and favour 



244 ON DEATH. 

of God, self-possession and vigour, to enable it to 
display an entire ascendancy over the fear and pain 
of death. 

No one will deny, that the primitive Christian, 
put in conflict with a hungry lion ; that Rogers at 
the Smithfield stake, exhibiting the serene and 
sublime triumph of mind over matter, and of the 
spirit over the body, — is one of the most imposing 
spectacles we can witness ; one of the clearest 
proofs we can contemplate, that we have that 
within us which is not all of clay, nor all mortal ; 
or doubt, that these persons endured infinitely less 
physical pain, in consequence of their genuine 
Christianity producing an heroic self-possession, 
than they would have suffered, had they met their 
torture in paroxysms of terror, shrinking, and self 
abandonment. 

One of the direct fruits of the intrepidity we 
would wish to see universal, arising from the pow- 
erful influence of Christian principle, is, that it will 
give its possessor all possible chances for preserving 
health and life. It saves him from the influence of 
fear, a passion among the most debilitating and 
adverse to life of any to which our nature is sub- 
ject. Braced by his courage, he passes untouched 
amidst a contagious epidemic, to which the timid 
and apprehensive nature falls a victim. In danger 



ON DEATH. 245 

it gives him coolness and self-command, to dis- 
cover and avail himself of all his chances of wise 
resistance, or probable escape. In sickness, he 
has all the aids to recover which nature allows, in 
being- delivered from the most dangerous symptom 
in innumerable maladies, the debilitating persua- 
sion of the patient, that he shall not rise from his 
sickness. 

The fact, that an evil is felt to be alleviated 
which is shared in common with all around us, has 
been generally recognized. We all know, that the 
same person who is most beneficent, most active in 
his benevolence, and large in his wishes to do 
good, would shrink from a great calamity, which 
he saw himself destined to encounter, for the first 
and the last among his whole race. But inform 
him, that by an impartial award he shares it in 
common with all his kind, and you will aid to re- 
concile him at once to his lot. Whether the spirit 
of his resignation in this case be pure, or polluted 
in its origin, it is not my present purpose to en- 
quire. It is sufficient to be assured, that there is 
such a feeling deeply inherent in human nature. 
The suffering patient, as he lays himself down to 
part from all friends, to be severed from all ties, 
to see the green earth, the bright sun, and the 
visible heavens no more, and to be conscious, 



246 ON DEATH. 

that the circle of ages will continue its revolu- 
tions without ever bringing him back to the for- 
saken scene, cannot repine, that he has been put 
upon this probation alone. Of all the countless 
millions, that have passed away, and been replaced 
by others, like the vernal leaves, death has stood 
before every solitary individual of the mighty 
mass, the same phantom king of terrors. Each 
has contemplated the same inexorable, irreversible 
award, been held in the same suspense of hopes, 
and fears, and compelled to endure the same 
struggles. Looking upon the immense mortal 
drama of ages, the actors seem slowly and imper- 
ceptibly to enter, and depart from the scene. But 
in the lapse of one short age, the hopes, fears, 
loves, and hatreds of all the countless millions have 
vanished, to be replaced by those of another gene- 
ration. The heart swells at the recollection how 
much each of these mortals must have endured, in 
this stern and inevitable encounter, as measured 
by our own suffering in the same case. It is only 
necessary for the patient to extend his vision a few 
years in advance of his own decease ; and his 
friends, his children, his visitants, all that surround 
him, will, in their turn, recline on the same bed. 
Who cannot feel the palpable folly of repining at 
an evil shared with all that have been, are, or will 



ON DEATH. 247 

be ! And who, but an idiot, will not seriously 
prepare for the great change ? 

The only adequate remedy for the fear of death, 
is the well-founded hope of a blessed immortality, 
built on the great doctrines of Revelation. We lie 
down in pain and agony, with a spirit of easy 
endurance, if we have a confident persuasion that, 
during the night, we shall have shaken off the 
cause of our sufferings, and shall rise to renewed 
health and freshness in the morning. Death can 
bring little terror to him, who believes that its 
darkness will instantly be replaced by the light of 
another scene : and that the separation from friends 
in the visible land, is only rejoining the more nu- 
merous group, who have already become citizens 
of the invisible country. To what extent am I the 
subject of this hope myself, and whence do I derive 
my belief ? I believe unhesitatingly, and without a 
doubt, that I shall, in some way, exactly provided 
for by Him who made me, exist after death ; and 
as simply conscious that I am the same person, 
as I am now in the morning, that I slept at night. 
Do I derive this conviction from books and reason- 
ings ? I am by no means sure that I do ; though 
the Gospel assuredly speaks directly to my heart. 
I do ready homage to the talents and learning of 
Locke, Paley, Doddridge, Lardner, and Hall, and 



248 ON DEATH. 

a cloud of reasoning witnesses, of whom every 
Christian may well be proud ; and, most of all, to 
the profound and admirable Butler. 

I hear the Author of our faith directly declaring 
a resurrection and immortality. A single assevera- 
tion from such a source were enough. It seems 
to me that he discusses it, as one who was aware 
that it was already interwoven in the sentiments 
and hearts of his hearers, upon which he might 
predicate his doctrines, as upon a thousand other 
facts, which we can clearly perceive, he considers 
already admitted by his hearers. 

All the universe proclaims a Deity. The grateful 
verdure, the matin freshness, the glad voices, the 
aroma of flowers, the earth, the rolling clouds, the 
sun, all the lamps that will burn in the firmament 
by night, my own happy consciousness in witness- 
ing this impressive scene, cry out a God. To my 
heart, it is the first, the simplest, most obvious 
thought, presenting itself, it seems to me, as soon 
as the consciousness of my own existence ; cer- 
tainly susceptible of as little doubt. I yield myself 
to the conviction. My heart swells with gratitude, 
confidence, and love. So good, so beneficent a 
Being can do nothing but good, in this or any 
other world, to him who loves and trusts him, and 
strives to obey his laws. 



ON DEATH. 249 

Nature and Revelation both unite to testify, that 
I am immortal. Not a particle of matter, for aught 
that appears, can be annihilated. Will the nobler 
thoughts, the warmer affections perish, as though 
they had not been ? We ask our senses, and they 
can give us no hope. The body lives, and we 
speak of it as including the conscious being. We 
see it die, pass under the empire of corruption, 
moulder, and incorporate with its kindred elements. 
The sensible evidence, that the person exists, is 
entirely destroyed. The most insatiate appetite of 
our natures, however, craves continued existence, 
and ceases not to seek for it. The enquirer after 
immortality cannot but be in earnest in this pur- 
suit. The arguments of the venerable sages of old, 
are spread before him. From the soul's nature, 
from the unity of consciousness, the incorruptibility 
of thought, the everlasting progress, of which our 
faculties are capable, the strong and unquenchable 
desire of posthumous fame, the sacredness of earthly 
friendships, and similar arguments, they strove to 
establish, on the basis of reasoning, the conviction 
of immortality. 

From these reasonings I repair to the Scrip- 
tures. A strange book, utterly unlike any writings 
that have appeared before, declares that we shall 
exist for ever. The religion which has arisen from 



250 ON DEATH. 

this book, in its whole structure and dispensation, 
is predicated on the assumed fact, that we shall 
exist for ever in another life ; happy or miserable, 
according to our deeds on earth. Jesus, " the 
author and finisher of this faith," announces him- 
self " the resurrection and the life ;" with a voice 
of power calls his dead friend from the tomb ; 
declares, that death has no power over himself; 
that, after suffering a violent death, on the third 
day from that event, he shall arise from the dead. 
He arises, according to his promise ; and, in the 
midst of his awe- struck friends, he visibly ascends 
to the celestial world. Millions, as by one impulse, 
catch the spirit of this wonderful book ; love each 
other with a new and single-hearted affection ; 
as unlike the spirit of all former ties of kindness 
and love, as the doctrinces of this religion are 
different from those of paganism. The new sect 
look with a careless eye upon whatever is tran- 
sitory ; and will submit to privation, derision and 
torture, of whatever form, rather than waver, or 
equivocate, in declaring themselves subjects of this 
hope of immortality. This christian hope, in every 
period from the time of its author, has made its 
way to the heart of millions, who have laid them- 
selves down on their last bed, and felt the approach 
of their last sleep, expecting, as confidently to open 



ON DEATH. 



251 



their eyes on an eternal morning, as the weary 
labourer, at his evening rest, trusts that he shall 
see the brightness of the morrow's dawn. 

For myself, I feel that I am immortal, and that 
those fellow sojourners, to whom I have been 
attached by the affection of long intimacy, and the 
reception of many and great kindnesses, will exist 
with me hereafter. I pretend to conceive nothing, 
I wish to enquire nothing, about the mode, the 
place and circumstances. I should as soon think 
of disturbing myself, by endeavouring to conceive 
the ideas that might be imparted by a sixth sense. 
It is sufficient that my heart declares, that a being 
who has seen this glorious world, cherished these 
warm affections, entertained these illimitable as- 
pirations, felt these longings after immortality, 
indulged " these thoughts, that wander through 
eternity/' cannot have been doomed by Him, who 
gave them, to have them quenched for ever in 
annihilation. Even an illusion, so glorious, would 
be worth purchasing at the price of a world. I 
would affirm, even to repetition, that there is given 
us that high and stern power, which implies a 
courage superior to any conflict, and which gives 
the mind a complete ascendancy over any danger, 
pain or torture, which belongs to life or death. 

It is only to a firm and unhesitating faith in the 



252 ON DEATH. 

great truths of the Gospel, that it becomes as easy 
and natural to die, as to sleep. Glorious and 
blessed hope, the hope of meeting our friends, in 
the eternal land of those who truly and greatly live 
for ever ! There we shall renew our youth, and 
" mount as on the wings of eagles ;" 



' And we shall meet, 



Where parting tears shall cease to flow : 

And, when I think thereon, almost I long to go '." 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



CONCLUSION. 

1 shall have attained my purpose if these sketches 
should produce any degree of conviction that 
man, in exercising his faculties, can mitigate his 
pains and multiply his pleasures, and, conse- 
quently, should serve as the outlines of a plan 
for reducing the pursuit of happiness to an art. 
I am aware that no view could be offered more 
contrary to the prevalent opinions in society. The 
morose and the frivolous make common cause to 
attack it. To them the very idea seems absurd ; 
and the most indulgent among them question the 
good faith of him who announces it. 

To such grave and learned authorities, and more, 

even to the general suffrage against it, I might 

dare to oppose counterbalancing authorities. From 

Socrates to Franklin, I see philosophers who have 

i 



254 



CONCLUSION. 



been persuaded that man may be directed in the 
art, and instructed in the science of happiness ; 
and that his faculties may be enlarged to pursue 
it. Who are the men that have entertained this 
persuasion ? The very flower of the human race. 
Was each individual of them surrounded by those 
happy circumstances which would naturally inspire 
the same philosophy ? They were persons who 
had experienced all the conditions of life. As if 
nature had studied to prove, by great examples, 
that our happiness depends upon our reason more 
than upon our circumstances, Epictetus lived in 
chains, and Marcus Aurelius on a throne. 

Which of the sciences did the admirable Socrates 
chiefly esteem ? The single one which teaches us 
to live as we ought. Let it not be said that I 
substitute one science for another ; and that Socra- 
tes taught morals, and not my pretended science 
of happiness. With the Greeks, morals had a 
perfectly definite end. Their philosophers held all 
their teaching subservient to conducting their dis- 
ciples to happiness. Illustrious men ! we disdain 
their maxims, but still revere their names. What 
fruit have we obtained from the boasted light and 
improvement of the age ? We speak with enthusi- 
asm of those sciences which they judged frivolous ; 
and we treat as chimerical, those studies which 
they judged alone worthy of human nature. 



CONCLUSION. 255 

Suppose it had been said to these philosophers, 
" You will never reform the human race ; and, 
instead of profitless dreams about wisdom and 
happiness, you ought to desist from subjects so 
futile, and consecrate your vigils to sciences more 
worthy to occupy your thoughts." Would they 
not have smiled with pity upon such counsel ? 
Had they deigned to reply, would they not have 
said, " We are well aware that we shall not purify 
the heart of the wicked of its pride, envy and 
cupidity ; but shall we derive no glory from having 
confirmed some good men in their career ? In the 
midst of storms we felt our energies invigorated as 
we perceived that our spirits were in accordance 
with theirs. However feeble may have been the 
influence of our Writings, affront not humanity by 
supposing that ours, however partial may be their 
circulation, will, nowhere, find minds worthy to 
profit by them. Perhaps they will kindle the holy 
love of virtue in some of those who may read them 
in the youthful age of unsophisticated and generous 
resolutions. Few, who read, will practise our doc- 
trine in all its extent. Almost every one will be 
indebted to it for some solitary principles. It is 
possible we may never have numerous disciples. 
But we shall have some in all countries and in all 
time. It is a truth that ought to satisfy us, that 
such discussions are based neither upon exaggera- 



256 CONCLUSION. 

tion nor enthusiasm. The science of happiness 
would indeed be chimerical if we expected that it 
would impart the same charms to all predicaments 
in which our lot might cast us. Instead of in- 
dulging such visionary hopes, if these discussions 
dissipate the errors which veil the true good from 
our eyes, if we learn to bring together all the easy 
and innocent pleasures, and to render the painful 
moments of life more rapid, we have been taught 
an art which it is possible to demonstrate and 
improve to an indefinite extent." 

Does this art appear difficult ? Let any one be 
named which it exacts no effort to acquire. Will 
it be thought that it cannot become of general 
utility ? Will professors of the highest reputation, 
cease to teach eloquence because they do not form 
as many orators as they have pupils ? The more 
maturely I have reflected upon the art in question, 
the more clearly I am convinced that it may be 
assimilated to the other arts. It differs from them 
only in its superior importance. The interest and 
attention that all the rest merit should be measured 
only by their relation, more or less direct, to this 
first of all arts. To settle the utility of any sci- 
ence, law, enterprise, or action, I know no better 
measure than to note its influence on human hap- 
piness. 

If moral lessons leave but a transient influence, 



CONCLUSION, 257 

it may be attributed to two principal causes ; the 
weakness of our nature, and the contagion of ex- 
ample. A third belongs to those who teach us the 
doctrine of morals, and is found in their exagge- 
ration of their doctrine. They elevate the altar of 
wisdom upon steep mountains ; and discourage our 
first steps, by proclaiming the painful efforts neces- 
sary to scale them. From the sadness of the 
ministers of the worship, it would not be inferred, 
the divinity of the place was liberal in dispensing 
pure pleasures, bright hopes, oblivion of pain, and 
remembrances almost as pleasant as either. 

It is a fatal error to imagine that it is useful to 
exaggerate the doctrine of morals. To do this, 
fails not to excite disgust towards the precepts 
inculcated. Men, that have been deceived upon 
these points, as soon as they judge for themselves, 
in their impatience to shake off the yoke of preju- 
dices, are tempted to reject principles the most 
wise with those errors by which they have been 
misled. That we may be heard and followed, let 
us be true. Let us present, with force, the evils 
which the abuse of our faculties brings upon our 
short career. Let us avow with equal frankness, 
that we commit an egregious mistake, if we refuse, 
or neglect to draw from our faculties all the advan- 
tages in our power, to embellish life. 

The doctrine of morals is a phrase that has been 



258 CONCLUSION. 

often employed to designate the propagation of 
false and extravagant principles. For this phrase, 
which is too worn out, and of equivocal import, 
suppose we substitute a definition, which will 
clearly indicate the end, towards which, morals 
ought to be directed. Morals teach the art of 
happiness. If it be not so, the foundation of 1 
ethics is a mere matter of convention, either use- 
less or dangerous. 

Morals should be taught only as subservient to 
happiness. Austerity should be banished equally 
from the manner of teaching and from the matter 
that is taught. They are the useful teachers, whose 
tenderness of heart impels them rather to inspire 
virtue than to enjoin it; and whose brilliant imagi- 
nation enables them to offer wise principles under 
such pleasant forms as charm the mind and awaken 
curiosity. To present a family struggling with 
every form of misfortune, and constantly opposing 
resignation or courage to each, is to offer the 
sublimest painting that it is possible to execute. 
Such a picture Goldsmith has given in his Vicar of 
Wakefield. The concurrence of genius and virtue 
could alone have conceived the idea. 

The concurrent influence of public institutions 
and education would be necessary to render the 
general habits conformable to happiness. Books, 
the influence of which I certainly have not exagge- 



CONCLUSION. 259 

rated, may be useful to men, raised by the discipline 
of their reason above the multitude. That man is 
happy, who knows how to add good books to the 
number of his friends, who often retires from the 
world to enjoy their peaceful and instructive con- 
versation, and always brings back serenity, courage 
and hope. 

Were the doctrine true, that it is impossible to 
increase the happiness or diminish the evils of life, 
it is not perceived that it would not still be neces- 
sary to follow my principles. Preach this discou- 
raging doctrine to a good man, and you may afflict 
him, but will obtain no influence over his conduct. 
He will always strive to improve his condition, 
mitigate the sufferings that press upon him, and 
render men more compassionate and happy. Such 
noble efforts cannot be entirely lost. The pure 
intentions, the sincere wishes, which he forms for 
the good of his kind, give to his mind a pleasant 
serenity. It assures his own happiness even to 
think of the means of increasing that of others. 



APPENDIX. 



THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION.^ 

The considerate Knight of La Mancha would not 
dismiss his follower and friend to the government 
of Bar at aria, without a few more last words, and 
without arming him for his high functions with a 
copious homily of counsels and admonitions. Be- 
fore I leave you to the stern encounter of the 
painful emergencies of life, to unravel its intrica- 
cies, and settle its innumerahle perplexing and 
difficult alternatives, I do not mean to oppress 
your memory with the thousand and one particular 
directions, to meet every imaginable occurrence 
with the right mode of conduct. Innumerable 
cases of perplexity will be continually occurring, 

* By the American editor, Timothy Flint. 



THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 261 

that can only be settled by judgment and pru- 
dence. 

I shall limit my counsels to a single one, on the 
right disposal of which, in a great measure, de- 
pends their character, success and happiness in 
life. I refer to the choice of a profession. On 
this subject, the first point to be consulted is our 
physical and mental temperament. That some are 
constituted for sedentary "and inactive pursuits, 
others to beat the anvil, follow the plough, or 
mount the reeling mast with a firm step in the 
uproar of a tempest ; some for the bar,' others for 
the pulpit, and still others to be musicians, paint- 
ers, poets or engineers, I consider a truth so 
universally and obviously taught by observation 
and experience, that I shall not deem it necessary 
to pause to prove it to such as would contest it. 
I know that there are those who contend that all 
minds are formed equal and alike ; and that all the 
after differences result from education and circum- 
stances. With them, Virgil and Byron had no 
constitutional aptitude to poetry, and the same 
training that gave Handel and Gluck their pre- 
eminence in music would have imparted to any 
other mind equal skill. According to their system, 
La Place and Zerah Colburn were no earlier or 
more strongly inclined to mathematics, than other 



262 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 

children. These sapient physiologists in descend- 
ing to the animal tribes, ought to find, that web- 
footed animals had no natural aptitude for water ^ 
the canine tribes for animal food, and the rumina- 
ting, to feed on grass and vegetables. I shall 
leave those who hold this dogma to retain it un- 
questioned so far as I am concerned ; and they will 
be obliged to leave me to mine : which is, that 
there are immense differences in the physical and 
mental constitution, which every enlightened pa- 
rent discovers in his children, from the very dawn 
of their faculties ; differences, which every intelli- 
gent instructor notes in his pupils, as soon as- 
he becomes intimately acquainted with them ; and 
which, to keen and close observation, distinguished 
more or less each individual in the immense mass 
of society. No matter how much alike these per- 
sons are reared and trained ; the most striking 
diversities of endowment are often observed in 
members of the same family, reared and educated 
with all possible uniformity. This is, no doubt, a 
beautiful trait of that general impress of variety, 
which providence has marked upon every portion 
of the animate and inanimate creation. Nature 
has willed, that not only men should possess an 
untiring diversity of form, countenance and mind, 
but that not two pebbles on the shore, or insects 



THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 263 

in the air, should he found precisely alike. The 
sign manual of the Creator on his works is a grand 
and infinite variety. 

The physiological enquiry, whence these differ- 
ences of temperament and aptitude arise, is one, 
which belongs to another subject ; though I have 
no wish to conceal my belief, that the fundamental 
positions of phrenology are as immovably found- 
ed in fact, and as certainly follow from obser- 
vation, as the leading axioms of any physical 
science. It is enough for my present purpose, that 
the order of every form of society calls for an infi- 
nite variety of aptitude, talent and vocation, and 
that nature has furnished the requisite variety of 
endowment, adequately to meet those calls. 

The ancient system, still in use, goes on suppo- 
sition, that all minds are originally alike ; and that 
all children are equally fit to be trained for each 
of the vocations. Hence we see tailors at the 
anvil, and blacksmiths on the shopboard, numbers 
of excellent ploughmen generating prose, and 
sleeping at the bar and pulpit, and ingenious 
fiddlers ruined as engineers ; in a word, all that 
ludicrous disarrangement and seeming play at cross 
purposes, in virtue of which, men, who would have 
been borne, by a strong current, to the first place 
in the profession for which nature designed them, 
become dull and useless in another. A great part 



264 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 

of the whole labour of instruction has thus been 
worse than thrown away. It has been the hard 
effort of poetic fiction, labouring the huge stone up 
an acclivity, to see it recoil and hear it thunder 
back again ; the effort to circumvent, and cross the 
purposes of nature. 

It seems to me to be among the most responsible 
enquiries of a parent and conscientious instructor, 
what pursuit or calling is indicated for his child by 
his temperament and aptitude ? The boy, who, like 
Pope, even in childhood lisps in numbers, because 
the numbers come, will probably be found to have 
not only an ear for the peculiar harmony of rhythm, 
but an inventive mind, stored with images, and a 
quick eye to catch the various phases of nature and 
society. If placed under favourable circumstances, 
and judicious training, this child will become a 
poet, while ninety-nine in a hundred of those, who 
make verses, could by no forcing of nature ever 
rise higher than rhymers. Thus may be detected 
the embryo germs of temperament, endowment 
and character, which give the undeveloped promise 
of the future orator, lawyer, mathematician, natu- 
ralist, mechanician ; in a word, of the mind fitted 
to attain distinction in any walk in society. I am 
aware of the mistakes, which fond and doting 
parents are likely to make, in interpreting an equi- 
vocal, perhaps an accidental sally of the cherished 






THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 265 

child, to be a sure proof of genius and endowment. 
No judicious and intelligent parent will be in much 
danger of being led astray by fondness so weak 
and misguided. Wherever real talent exists, it 
never fails to put forth continual indications. It is 
the elastic vigour of nature working at the root, to 
which no foolish partiality will be blind. 

It is true, that nature, equally beneficent in what 
she has granted, and what she has withheld, forms 
the million for the common duties, and undistin- 
guished employment ; stamps them at once with 
a characteristic uniformity and variety ; and sends 
them forth with specific adaptations, but not so 
strongly marked, as not to be mistaken with com- 
parative impunity. Hence the ordinary pursuits 
and employments of life are conducted with general 
success, notwithstanding these smaller mistakes 
with regard to genius. 

Not so in those rarer instances, where she has 
seen fit to stamp the clear and strong impress of 
peculiar endowment and aptitude, in which the 
embryo poet, painter, mathematician, naturalist, 
and orator are indicated by such unequivocal signs, 
as cannot easily be overlooked, or mistaken by any 
competent judge. Hence, in the biography of most 
of those who have truly and greatly distinguished 
themselves, we are informed that the most ordinary 
people about them were perfectly aware of the 



266 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 

harbingers of their future greatness. I am confi- 
dent, that to keen and faithful observations, these 
harbingers are as palpable in the germ, as in the 
development. To mistake, in such a case, and not 
only to withdraw the youthful aspirant from the 
career to which nature beckons him, but to force 
him into one, in which every effort must be rowing 
against the stream, is to consign him to an 
Egyptian bondage, a slavery of the soul, by which 
many a spirit of firmer mould has been broken 
down, and lost to society, and others worse than 
lost, rendered the scourge and curse of all with 
whom their lot was cast. 

Such as have arrived at a maturity of reason and 
years, so as to have the responsibility of the choice 
of a profession cast upon themselves, will infer, 
what are my views in regard to the first element 
by which they ought to be directed. It involves 
a previous question, for what pursuit or calling 
their temperament, faculties and powers best fit 
them ? By long and close observation, pursued 
with a fidelity proportioned to its importance, by 
intent study of themselves, as called out by the 
changes of their health and prospects, the fluctua- 
tions of their spirits, their collisions with society, 
in all the contingencies that befall them, they can 
scarcely fail to form some conception of the peculiar 
cast of their powers, and the walk in life for which 



THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 267 

their capabilities are best adapted. If they select 
wisely in this respect, habit and time will certainly 
render it the profession of their inclinations. 

As soon as the mind begins to survey the pro- 
fessions, in regard to the honours, emolument, and 
success which they respectively offer, there is great 
danger, lest imagination, taking the place of reason, 
should look at the scene through a prism, and see 
all the chances of an illusive brilliancy of promise, 
which sober experience will be sure to disappoint. 
There are the immense promises of the law, 
alluring a crowd of aspirants and competitors, the 
greater portion of whom must fail to realize their 
expectations. There are the honours of the phy- 
sician, binding him, by the strongest of all ties, to 
the confidence and affection of the families that 
employ him. He exercises the only profession that 
does not depend upon the caprice of fashion, or the 
vibrations of transient feeling. There is the min- 
istry, with its time-honoured claims, its peculiar 
title to be admitted to the privacy of affection* 
sickness and death, and its paramount capability 
of the highest forms of that only eloquence that 
swells and softens the heart, by coming home to 
men's business and bosoms. There is the varied 
range, and the rapidly acquired fortunes of mer- 
chandise and commerce ; the growing interest and 
importance of the new portico to a new order of 



268 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 

nobility, manufactures. There is agriculture, 
always seen to be the most satisfactory and useful 
of employments, and now rapidly coming to be 
viewed in the light of scientific investigation, and 
of a liberal pursuit. To adjust and settle the re- 
spective views, which the judgment and imagina- 
tion will take of the chances of these various 
pursuits, and their contiguity to love, marriage, 
wealth and distinction, will be found to be no easy 
task. Sometimes one view will predominate, 
sometimes another ; and the mind appears like a 
pendulum vibrating between them. 

Reason presents one decisive view of the sub- 
ject. All these chances, all these balances of 
advantage and disadvantage, have long since settled 
to their actual and natural level. If the law 
presents more tempting baits, and more rich and 
glittering prizes, over-crowded competition, heart- 
wearing scramble, difficulty of rising above the 
common level, into the sun and air of distinction, 
are appended, as inevitable weights in the opposing 
scale. The advantages and disadvantages of all 
the professions are adjusted by the level of society, 
exactly in the same way. He who is guided in 
this enquiry by common sense, will comprehend at 
a glance, that it is impossible, in the nature of 
things, to combine all the advantages and evade 
all the disadvantages of any one pursuit. No ex- 



THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 269 

pectation more irrational and disappointing can be 
indulged, than to unite incompatible circumstances 
of happiness. The enquirer must reflect, that such 
a pursuit connects a series of fortunate chances ; 
but there are the counterbalancing evils. Such 
another has a different series of both. It is folly 
to expect to form an amalgam of these immiscible 
elements. Reason can expect no more than that 
we unite in the calling, finally fixed upon, as many 
fortunate circumstances as possible, and avoid, as 
far as may be, its inconveniences and evils. 



THE END. 



tfAY, PRINTER, CANNON STREET, DOVER 



RECENTLY PUBLISHED 
BY WILLIAM DARTON AND SON, 

HOLBORN HILL, 

THE TEACHER, 

OR 

MORAL INFLUENCES EMPLOYED 

IN THE 

Instruction and Government of the Young. 

By Jacob Abbott. 
Royal ISmo, Fancy Cloth, 3s. 



FRANK AND HIS FATHER: 



OR 

CONVERSATIONS 



First Three chapters of the book of Genesis. 

By Bourne Hall Draper. 
Ylmo, Fancy Cloth, and Plates, 5s. 



MODERN HISTORY; 

INCLUDING THE 

IMPORTANT PERIODS 

FROM THE 

French Revolution, 1789, to the present time. 

By Bourne Hall Draper. 
Royal 18mo. Fancy Cloth. 3s. 6c/. 



Recently Published by W. Barton and Son. 
THE DIADEM: 

A SELECTION OF POETRY, 

CHIEFLY MODERN. 

32mo. Fancy Silk, gilt edges, Plates* 3s. 6d. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM PENN; 

TO WHICH IS ADDED 

HIS REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS, 

Relating to the Conduct of Human Life. 

By Bourne Hall Draper. 

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THE EVERGREEN; 

A SELECTION OF 
RELIGIOUS AND PRECEPTIVE POETRY. 

32mo. Fancy Silk, gilt edges 3s. &d. 



THE AMARANTH; 

A SELECTION OF 
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By Bourne Hall Draper. 
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PIOUS REFLECTIONS 

FOR 

EVERY DAY OF THE MONTH. 

Translated from the French of Fenelon, Archbishop of Cam - 
bray. To which is prefixed a brief sketch of his Life. 

32mo. fancy cloth, gilt, with a portrait of the Author Is. Qd. 



A SPLENDID PRINT OF 

phew® 

TREATY WITH THE INDIANS, 

WHEN HE FOUNDED THE 

PROVINCE OF PENNSYLVANIA, 

IN NORTH AMERICA; 

1681: 

AFTER THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY BENJAMIN WEST, 



BY THOMAS FAIRLAND : 

Size, 25| Inches by 20 Inches. 



NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, — A lithographic 
print, from the celebrated painting, by West, of the Treaty of Wil- 
liam Penn, for the lands which are now comprised in the state of 
Pennsylvania, has recently been published by Mr. Darton, of Holborn 
Hill. The painting of West, which is one of the finest in the whole 
world, and which in grouping expressions, and perfect keeping in all 
its attributes, only has its equal in the Cartoons of Raphael, here is 
seen lithographed in the finest style of the art. The benignity and wis- 
dom of the countenance and manners of William Penn, and the feelings 
almost of adoration which he is inspiring in the natives of the woods, 
reads an invaluable lesson to the kings and conquerors of the earth. 
That this is the proper way to conquer kingdoms, is the impression 
which must instantly be forced upon the spectator of such a scene. We 
hope that this print will meet with the sale which so superior a work of 
art, and so instructive a design, deserves in an age when war and 
slaughter are fast passing from amongst mankind. — Sunday Herald, 
April 26, 1835. 



William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, when he founded 
the Province op Pennsylvania. William Darton and Son. 
This is a copy of the celebrated picture by Benjamin West. It is 

drawn on stone, and is one of the best specimens of lithography which 



have ever come under our notice. There is a softness about the whole 
picture, and a distinctness and minute accuracy about the different 
figures we have never seen equalled in any previous specimen of litho- 
graphy, and which indeed may vie with many of the most approved 
copper-plate engravings. It is a faithful copy of the great original, and 
is on that account as well as the remarkable fineness of the work, enti- 
tled to our warmest commendation. We shall be glad soon to see 
another equally meritorious stone drawing from the pencil of Mr. Fair- 
land, — Morning Advertiser, April 25, 1835. 



William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, 1681. 
William Darton and Son, London. 

All West's Pictures have a distinguishing hardness and dryness; cor- 
rect they certainly are, and sometimes highly effective ; but the above- 
mentioned fault is perceptible in all. The original of this print is, like 
the rest, assailable at this point. The print before us is exceedingly 
soft and rich. The features of William Penn are marked by great 
keenness, and are in strong contrast to the eager looks of the Indians 
around. He looks as if he could overreach them. We always consi- 
dered the forms of the native warriors in West's picture too full of 
flesh. Constant exercise and occasional privation should render them 
more spare and athletic. 

The details of the picture are in West's best style. 

The unfinished houses, marking the state of the infant colony— the 
young Indians practising the bow — the ships in tbe distance — all convey 
distinct ideas of the action. 

The fixed gaze of the Indian is like his fellow in the " Death of 
General Wolfe," who regards, with intense curiosity, the features of 
the expiring General, anxious to see how. an European can die, 

The manner in which the print has been lithographed is excellent. It 
is in Fair! and 's best style. — True Sun, April 24, 1835. 



Penn's Treaty with the Indians.— Darton and Son, Holborn 
Hill, have just published a lithographic print from West's celebrated 
picture of the Treaty made by William Penn with the Indians, when 
he founded the Province of Pennsylvania in North America. It is one 
of the finest specimens of the art of drawing on stone that has yet 
appeared. It has all the firmness and clearness of an engraving on 
copper or steel, with the softness and delicate shading of an oil- 
painting. The foliage is peculiarly beautiful, and the varied expression 
of the principal group is admirably conveyed. — Weekly Dispatch, 
April 26, 1835. 



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